


Chick Magnet (No, not that kind of chick)

by Salt00



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Animal Cuddling, Animals, Assassination Attempt(s), Baby Animals, Childhood Trauma, Claude von Riegan is a Little Shit, Claustrophobia, Cuddling & Snuggling, Cultural Differences, Culture Shock, Cute, Demisexual Claude, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff, Flustered Claude von Riegan, Folklore, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Injury, Literal Sleeping Together, Loneliness, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Mythology - Freeform, Napping, Non-Platonic Cuddling, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Oblivious Claude, Panic Attacks, Paranoia, Platonic Cuddling, Possessive Behavior, Racism, Secret Identity, Sleepy Cuddles, Slow Burn, Trust Issues, Worldbuilding, Xenophobia, and also a sap, so many animals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-04 09:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 259,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24967732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salt00/pseuds/Salt00
Summary: Claude attracts a very specific kind of crowd.Claude wouldn't call himself an animal lover. He likes animals, sure. Only a monster could look at a kitten or puppy and not feel something. He's human, just like everyone else. Animals, on the other hand, seem to unanimously lovehim.They sense his carefully hidden soft heart, he's sure of it. It's the only explanation. They capitalize on his weakness and extort him for all he's worth. He folds like a house of cards every time a kitten so much as looks at him. Behind closed doors, he doesn't mind too much. Maybe he even goes so far as to enjoy the companionship. But he's aware no one will take him seriously if his little weakness comes to light. It's his greatest (mundane) secret.Unfortunately, he doesn't have enough blackmail material to silence the entirety of the Golden Deer when they find out.Aka Disney Princess!Claude
Relationships: Cyril/Lysithea von Ordelia, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan, Golden Deer Students & Claude von Riegan, Marianne von Edmund/Hilda Valentine Goneril
Comments: 1179
Kudos: 1383





	1. Misunderstandings

Claude mentally cursed up a storm. He was late to class. Not just a little late. He was _very_ late. Teach hated it when their students were late. Usually, when someone was late, Teach stormed their room and dragged them to class kicking and screaming if need be. Hilda had been forced to attend class in nothing but her nightgown more than once. That particular threat cut off Hilda’s little habit of oversleeping almost entirely. 

Claude, however, had never slept in before today. He was a _model student, the pinnacle of poised nobility and honor, never shirking his—_ nope, he couldn’t even think that with a straight face. His penchant for mischief aside, he _was_ an attentive student. Teach’s classes were always, always interesting. Even the times he pulled all-nighters in the library, he always dragged himself to class.

Today he slept in until noon. _Noon!_ He overslept by _hours._ It wasn’t a weekend (he checked), it wasn’t a holiday (he checked), and it wasn’t his birthday (he checked). All he could surmise is that Teach either really, really liked him as their favorite student enough to let him sleep in (doubtful) or they were injured/indisposed (possible, also worrying).

Thank the Gods he didn’t do much to get ready in the morning. His bed-head was his staple look. All he did was brush some stubborn cat fur off of his jacket before booking it to class. If it were for anyone else’s class, he would have casually strolled from his room to the classroom, appearing perfectly unaffected by his tardiness. Unfortunately, it was _Teach’s class_ he was late for. He ran.

He panted, entirely out of breath as he peeked his head through the door. Unfortunately, because it was just his luck for the day, upon hearing the door open the entire class swivel their heads to look at him.

Despite being out of breath, he cocked a grin towards Teach. They were, frustratingly as ever, blank-faced and impossible to get a read on. “Sorry I’m late, Teach! It won’t happen again, promise!”

He expected a scolding or punishment. He received only a nod of their head. “It’s fine. Good morning. Take your seat.”

Was that _really_ it? _Too good to be true._ He slid into his seat beside Hilda. He expected something like _‘Wow, how come_ you _get to sleep in, but I don’t? These are double standards!’_

“So, done with your ever so important duties, Mr. Leader Man?”

He kept up an easy grin that showed none of his confusion. “Important duties? That’s a bit much.”

“The professor said you were excused from class because you were ‘performing duties far more important than classwork’. They wouldn’t tell us any more than that, though!”

He shrugged. “Psh, Hilda, maybe you should shush before Teach tells you to.” He winked. “It’s the middle of class.” He glanced over at Teach and realized they were allowing Hilda to run her mouth. _Usually_ Teach was strict about talking during their lesson.

“Claude, I also must inquire as to your whereabouts this morning.” Lorenz gave him a long, hard look. “Were you tending to a matter involving the Alliance? If so, I demand to be informed.”

“Nope. No need to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, Lorenz. That’s my job.”

“On the contrary, matters involving the Alliance are certainly my ‘business’, and thus—”

Claude waved a hand. “Didn’t involve the Alliance.” Unless ‘the heir to the Alliance’s leading house slept in’ counted. “Happy?”

Hilda wasn’t. She leaned forward, resting her chin on laced fingers. “What _were_ you doing, then? The professor _never_ excuses us from class. Must’ve been _pre-tty_ important.”

“Maybe they excused me because I’m their favorite.”

“I have no favorites,” Teach interrupted— clearly lying— before returning to their previous occupation of silently staring forward and otherwise not actually teaching or doing their job.

“Sure, sure, wink wink nod nod, no favorite, I gotcha. Again, sorry about being late. So, what’s the topic? Don’t let me hold up your lesson.”

Hilda slammed her hands on the desk. “Nuh-uh! I refuse to pay attention until I get my answers.”

“Not to also hold up the lesson,” Leonie spoke up, “but I’m curious too. You’ve never been late before, Claude.”

“Yeah, is everything alright?” Raphael asked, actually sounding genuinely concerned.

“Aw, thanks for the concern, but everything’s fine. Seriously, don’t sweat it. I—”

_“Saints!”_ Lysithea shouted. “Claude, you are insufferable on a good day, but this is too much! Just answer the question so we can return to class!”

“Yes Claude,” Lorenz hissed, “tell us of whatever scheme you were busy pulling, and how you pulled the wool over our professor’s eyes.”

“I don’t think anyone can ‘pull the wool over’ Teach’s eyes. Trust me, I’ve tried.”

Teach gave a solemn nod. “He’s learned his lesson.” He felt a tiny prickle of fear remembering his failed attempts. “Multiple times.”

“Ahem. Yeah, that. Lorenz, you should have more faith in Teach. They aren’t so easily fooled—”

Hilda yanked on his braid. “You’re dodging the question again! Why! Were! You! Late!”

“Ack— hey, Hilda— ow ow ow, let go!”

Hilda grinned a not-at-all delicate grin. “Tell me, and I’ll let you go.” She yanked on his braid again.

Unfortunately, he knew he couldn’t beat Hilda in a strength contest. His only other methods of escape involved actively harming Hilda (hitting her to surprise her, throwing something at her, feigning a strike at her eyes…) Maybe he could pretend to faint? But that was liable to get his braid ripped off of his skull.

She gave another tight yank.

“Fine! I slept in! _Ow!”_

Hilda tisked. “Liar!”

“I’m not lying! _Youch!_ Hilda, you’re going to— ow!— rip my braid off!”

“Ugh, stop being such a baby. Everyone knows the professor deals harshly with those who oversleep.” Hilda shuddered.

“Well, it’s the truth! I stayed up late and slept in. End of story.” Hilda still held his braid in her grip, but she stopped tugging. “Teach, back up your favorite student here!”

“I have no favorite student.”

“Your _secret_ favorite student, then!”

“Well, the professor _did_ go to check on Claude earlier this morning…” Ignatz mumbled. “If he really was sleeping in, they would have dragged him here, right?”

Claude’s eye twitched. “Wait, Teach, did you—”

“I can confirm Claude slept in, yes.”

_“What!”_ Hilda shouted, still holding his braid and yanking his head as she slammed her fists on the desk. “Oops, sorry Claude.”

Claude rubbed his head from where he wacked it into the desk, cradling his braid with his other hand. “I do not deserve this level of abuse.”

“Yes you do! How come _you_ got to sleep in?!”

“Is sleeping in truly ‘important work’, professor?” Lorenz’s sour tone made it clear it wasn’t actually a question.

Teach gave a serious nod. “Great work can be performed while sleeping.”

There was a beat of silence.

“Teach… what does _that_ mean?”

“Was he writing an essay in his sleep?” Raphael wondered aloud.

“I _wish_ I could do that…” Claude mumbled.

Teach shook their head. “Claude was occupied. I was not about to wake him and his friends up just for class. It didn’t seem fair.”

“His… friends…?”

Claude realized something. His smile froze in place. “Teach, did you… come into my room…?”

They blinked at him. “Of course. Did you think I wouldn’t? It’s what I always do.”

“Oh.” His face burst into flames. “Okay.” Oh Gods, he was definitely blushing. Oh _Gods,_ Teach saw him. He had contingencies for if others found him out, but _nothing_ for Teach. He knew none of his excuses would work on them.

“Oh my Goddess…” he heard Hilda whisper.

“Wait, does that mean…?”

“Did Claude…?”

Teach saw him. In his room. With… 

He wanted to curl up and die.

“You and your friends looked very comfortable, Claude. I couldn’t wake you all up.”

“His friends?!”

“Claude was— with— wait, more than one?!”

Claude shook his head. “N-no wait, it’s not— look, it’s not what you think!”

Hilda was staring at him open-mouthed. “I can’t believe it.”

He brought his hands in front of him, shaking them rapidly. “Wait wait wait! Hold on, I— I can explain!”

“Is the professor saying what I think they’re saying?” Ignatz stared at him with wide eyes. “Claude wouldn’t do… _that._ Right?”

“Seems out of character,” Leonie mumbled back, “but… I mean, he _is_ rather mysterious. And secretive! Secretive people have things to hide.”

“Hey, I—”

“It’s gotta be,” Raphael interrupted him. “He wouldn’t be embarrassed if he wasn’t.”

“‘Performing’… ‘important duties’…” Lorenz looked even more shocked than Hilda, his face bursting into red. _“Performing_ important duties?! Claude— at the _academy?!_ That is most improper! A scandal!”

Claude covered his face with a hand, knowing it couldn’t hide his embarrassment. “A scandal? That— that’s a huge exaggeration. And, if not the academy, where else?”

Hilda stared at him with wide eyes. “You’re _embarrassed.”_

He tried to school his expression. It was difficult, considering Hilda was very correct. “You’re seeing things.”

“I could cook an egg on your face. You’re _red.”_

“I-it’s just the lighting. My face isn’t red.”

“Goddess, the _stuttering._ I’ve _never_ heard you stutter before.”

He threw up his hands. “Look, I’m not the only one who does this, okay? It’s not a big deal.” He’d definitely noticed Bernadetta doing it one night.

“Sylvain does not count!” Hilda shouted.

“Sylvain?— wait, nevermind, I don’t care. Look, they wouldn’t stop begging me, okay. They just looked, you know, pathetic. My heart might be icy cold, but even I have my limits!”

Leonie rose to stand, jabbing a finger at him. “Are you saying you took advantage of them?!”

“What? No, more like they took advantage of _me._ Did you not hear me say they were _begging_ me?”

“So it was pity.”

“Yeah? They were cold! It was raining! I’m not heartless!”

“Why’s everyone so upset?” Raphael asked. “I’d do the same! No one wants to be out in the cold.”

“Um, Raphael, I think you’re misunderstanding…” Ignatz mumbled.

“Claude.” Teach looked at him with their usual blank expression, but he couldn’t help but think there was a layer of vindictiveness underneath. “I saw the food and toys in your room. A collar as well. You do not need to lie and say this was a one-time thing.”

_“Food? Toys?! A collar?!”_

“Toys… as in… _those_ kinds of toys?”

“What other kind would he have? It’s gotta be, _Goddess!”_

“Professor!” Lysithea didn’t quite shout, but it was a near thing. “Can we _please_ stop talking about this subject and get back to class. No one wants to hear these…” she shuddered, “details.”

Hilda was looking at him like he was a completely different person.

“Okay, I know the collar was a bad idea, especially since I don’t plan to keep him— a-and, look, I know it’s against the dorm code.”

“It’s against more than just the dorm code!” Leonie shouted. “Is that even lawful? There’s no way that’s legal. I know you’re kinda a bigshot, but that’s really pushing it!”

“To think, I had a shred of respect for you. A small one, but I see even that was misplaced.” Lorenz looked down his nose at him. “My father will be hearing of this, and the rest of the Roundtable too.”

Claude gaped. “Whoa whoa, hold up, that’s too far! No one needs to know! You guys are blowing this way out of proportion! Seriously, don’t tell anyone!” He raked his mind for every shred of blackmail material he had on the class. Did he have enough? For _everyone?_

Teach nodded. “Indeed. Though it was only a glance, I could tell that Claude was earnestly taking care of those in his room. The bitch looked very well taken care of.”

_Oh,_ Claude realized, _this_ was Teach’s punishment to him for being late. “H-he’s not a female, actually, Teach…” Gods, why was _that_ the part of their statement he tried to correct?! “He’s a good boy, nice and quiet—”

“A _BOY?!”_

“Professor, how can you condone this!”

“How young?! You _didn’t—!_ ”

“Is this a dream? This _has_ to be a weird dream. I don’t understand any of this.”

“I can't believe it. He’s a closeted deviant!” 

Claude thumped his burning face against his desk. “Teach, you should’ve just dragged me to class.” He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this embarrassed. 

“I was wary that the viper at your feet would bite me.”

“Professor, please cease referring to these people with such crude terms. Claude is abusing his noble status treating these poor people this way!”

“People…?” Claude muttered. “What people?”

“The ones you’ve locked up in your room!”

“That you’ve been sleeping with!”

“And feeding! Claude, how come you don’t give me food?!”

“Um, Raphael, I think you’re missing the point…”

Claude stared at everyone. “I’m missing the point too.”

Leonie pinched her brow. “Claude, _how many_ have you been sharing your bed with?”

“Seven by my count,” Teach answered.

_“SEVEN?!”_

“Seven?” Claude frowned at Teach. “Only six.”

“Oh, _only_ six! That’s not so bad! _Only_ six!”

“How the hell did he even fit that many on his bed…?”

Hilda rapidly shook her head. “Is this why you have a huge bed? So you can have— have— orgies?!” 

Claude choked. “Origes?! Excuse me?!”

“How have I not heard about this? This is prime gossip material! How has no one noticed?”

Lorenz stared blankly ahead. “Our rooms are next to each other. Oh Saints, all of those strange noises that come from your room. _Saints._ An orgy.” His voice lowered to a whisper. _“Seven, and I can’t even get one…”_

“It’s not hard! You can have one if you want, Lorenz! I already said I don’t plan on keeping them.”

“I am NOT trading people like _livestock,_ Claude!”

Claude threw up his hands. “A kitten isn’t a _person,_ Lorenz!”

There was a beat of silence.

“A… kitten…?”

Claude raised his eyes to the ceiling. “I thought that was clear?” _Gods,_ he wanted to be struck by lightning and be done with this. Hilda was right, he could totally cook an egg on his face.

Raphael nodded. “Yeah, I mean, your jacket’s covered in fur. Besides, what else would you be feeding in your room? Why else have toys and a collar? Come on guys, even I figured that one out.”

“You have kittens in your room.”

“Yup.”

“Seven kittens.”

“Three, actually.”

A beat of silence.

“And… the other four?”

“They aren’t _people,_ if that’s your concern.”

“He has a dog, small wyvern, snake, and bird.”

_“Teach!_ And hey, wait, a bird? I don’t have a bird.”

“One was nesting in your hair earlier.”

Claude reached up and ran a hand through his hair. Pulling out a small brown feather, apparently Teach was right. “Okay, apparently there was also a bird in my room. I didn’t let that one in.”

“Why do you have a _zoo_ in your room?!” 

He hissed a breath through his teeth. “Look, the dog had a broken leg. I let him in my room while he healed, and now he just kinda sticks around some nights. The wyvern hatched a couple of days ago, and she’s albino. Her mama left her out to die. She doesn’t deserve to freeze to death just because she’s a little different. And I’ve had the snake for ages.”

Hilda snatched him by the collar. “Claude, why didn’t you say they were animals _earlier?_ And don’t give me some crap about _‘oh, it was totally implied!’_ There’s no _way_ this is all there is to it. Seriously, look at you. You’re drowning in embarrassment.”

“I am _not.”_

“It’s because he doesn’t want anyone to know he’s a sap deep down.”

“Teach!” His face hadn’t cooled down at all, but now it blazed all the hotter. Just when he thought it couldn’t get any worse…! “I’m not a sap!” His voice cracked.

“Don’t sleep in next time.”

Hilda let him go, grumbling. Then she looked at him with a calculating look that he did _not_ like. She leaned into his space. “So, when’s the best time to stop by to see the cute critters? How about after class?” 

“I don’t recall inviting you to my room.”

“That’s cute that you think you have a choice in the matter.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, pouting. “Wouldn’t want Seteth to hear about your cutesy animal collection…”

“U-um… Claude, um… c-could I, maybe, if it isn’t too much trouble, come visit them…? A-after class, when you aren’t busy… if it’s okay with you. If it’s not okay that’s fine too, um—”

“Can I see them too? Only if you don’t mind…”

“Yeah, I want in on this too!”

Claude groaned into his desk.

* * *

“This kitten is Sun,” he nodded to the orange Riegan tabby, “this one is Moon,” he nodded to the white Ordelian, “and this one is Star,” he nodded down to the black Hresvelgion Whisker he held in his lap. “They’re triplets.” Sun and Moon, having just been fed, were content (as content as they ever were) to squeal at his side for attention. Star, the last one to be fed, suckled at the bottle of milk in his hands. He gestured to the white wyvern clinging to his neck. “And this little one I haven’t named yet, considering she’s two days old. I’m taking suggestions.”

“And this pupper?” Hilda asked, petting said pupper. The old Blaiddyd Rex calmly wagged his tail, arching his head into Hilda’s nails.

“Butter.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You named him Butter?”

“He once ate a pound of butter that I dropped. Thus: Butter.”

“Why… did you have a pound of butter?”

“Oh Hilda. You do _not_ want to know.”

“U-um, he seems to like you a lot, Claude. You must take good care of him…” Marianne was much less of a nervous wreck than usual. He mentally noted that animals made her more comfortable. That could be useful for the future… 

He shrugged, wincing as the wyvern dug her claws into his shoulders at the gesture. “I don’t do anything special. I just feed him sometimes, and then he begs at my door until I let him in. I can’t exactly say no, since then anyone would be able to see said dog begging outside of _my_ door.” Butter wasn’t even a loud whiner. No, he just quietly whimpered, utterly pathetic and sad until Claude opened his door. “He’s awful like that.” Nevermind the joy he felt whenever Butter’s tail started wagging just at the sight of him, or how much he appreciated having the dog around during his more lonely nights. No one needed to know that.

He pulled the bottle away from Star, something she was not happy about. If he’d been alone, he might have lightly petted her puffed out belly, chiding her for getting chubby, or some other soft (he was _not_ sappy) comment. Speaking to animals was important! He was pretty sure, anyways. They said it was important to speak to babies, so animals had to be the same, right? He was just doing his due diligence for the kitten’s development when he baby-talked them. That was all.

What with the two girls in his room, however, he settled for rolling his eyes in exasperation as Star gnawed on his finger. He made sure to keep anything fond or fond-adjacent away from his expression. He placed Star on his shoulder (the one without the unnamed wyvern) to burp her. He was mostly sure he could wean them off of milk soon, providing he guessed their ages correctly. He couldn’t wait for that. Bottle feeding was a pain.

“I’m surprised you know how to take care of them so well… Have you been fostering them for long?” Marianne asked, gently picking up Moon.

“About a week and a half. It’s the wildest story, actually…” He huffed a laugh as he remembered it. “Their mother was pretty sick, I think. I was just minding my business, staring up at my ceiling and contemplating the universe at midnight, as you do, when suddenly something jumps from the branch outside and into my room! It’s dark, being midnight of course, so you can imagine my confusion when there’s suddenly something squealing in my room. The figure darts out of my window, leaving the squealing bundle. She came back twice more, dropping off a new kitten each time. Then she left, never to return.” He left out the terror he experienced, assuming the cat to be an assassin at first.

“That’s so sad! The poor cat!” Marianne shot a pair of sad eyes down at Moon. Claude was just grateful she didn’t direct that look at him.

“It is kinda funny though… like, why Claude of all people?”

He shrugged. He went to pull Star off his shoulder. She disagreed with being relocated, clawing into his jacket. “Maybe I was the only one with an open window that night. Who knows.”

“Never would’ve pegged you as an animal whisperer. You and Marianne should trade tips! Between the two of you, I bet there’s nothing you can’t tame!”

“O-oh, um, I’m not that great…”

“I’m no animal whisper. They just seem to…” he made a face, _“congregate_ around me. Never been able to figure that one out.” They could smell his weakness, he was _sure_ of it. Somehow animals _knew_ he couldn’t resist a sad set of eyes. That _had_ to be it.

“Claude, I hope you know how absolutely _hilarious_ it is that your _big bad secret_ is that you’re an animal lover. You’re so mysterious, but this secret is just— so pure. So adorable.”

His ears grew hot. He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “Oh, you think you’ve figured me out? Sure, sure. No more secrets for me— this is it. No need to dig any deeper. Ah, I haven’t introduced you to the last one.”

“The bird that slept in your hair? I thought you said it was just a random bird that you didn’t let in.”

“I wasn’t talking about the bird.” He finally pried Star off his shoulder, settling her onto his bed. She screamed her dissatisfaction at her new arrangement. Unfortunately for her, his room wasn’t a democracy and thus her complaint meant nothing. Her tiny claws didn’t even break the skin of his hand. Maybe when she was older she would learn how to properly riot and overthrow him. Until that day came, Claude was happy to rule with an iron fist.

After a moment of deliberation, he scratched behind her ears. She was _very_ cute, after all. It had nothing to do with how sad her meows were. Her determination deserved a reward, that was all.

He knew he wasn’t getting the wyvern off his shoulder, so he didn’t bother trying. If the kittens were clingy, the wyvern was like a second skin. Prying her off of his face earlier in the morning had been a herculean effort.

He knelt down and reached under his bed. He wiggled his fingers, and just like he expected, his little snake curled around his fingers. “She’s not a social snake, but this is Vishkanya.” She eyed Hilda, flicking her tongue out in her direction.

“Claude. That’s an Almyran viper.”

“She sure is!”

_“Claude._ Those things are super poisonous.”

“Nah, she’s not poisonous.”

Hilda slumped and gave a long exhale. “Oh, that’s good. You had me worried for a second!”

“She’s venomous. Common misunderstanding.” He winked. “See, things are ‘poisonous’ when you eat them. If it bites you, that means it’s ‘venomous’. There aren’t very many poisonous snakes out there. Although, there is this one species of snake that lives in Adrestria that’s poisonous. See, it eats poisonous toads, and then—”

“Wow, I really don’t care. It’s astounding how little I care.” She pressed her hands to her face, taking a few deep breaths. When her hands slid down to her lap, she stared at him intensely. “Claude?”

“Hmmmm?”

_“Why?”_

“Why what?” He brought Vish up to his face. She greeted him with a quick tongue flick against his nose. He booped her forehead with his finger in response. The little wyvern around his neck began investigating Vish’s tail.

“Do you have a death wish? Those things kill people _all the time._ _Why_ do you have one?”

“She was a birthday gift!”

“What.”

“Yeah, got her when I was six. We’ve been inseparable since.”

Hilda gave an uncomfortable giggle. “When you were six? Who gives a pois— venomous, whatever— who gives a deadly snake to a six year old? I’m surprised you aren’t dead!” 

“If she killed me, who would feed her, or act as her heat-rock? Nah, she loves me. She wouldn’t try to kill me.” He didn’t mention the fact that she _had_ bitten him, and often still did. To be fair, she only ever bit him when he asked for it. Technically, she was a birthday gift, wrapped up in a box and everything. Sure, it had been an attempt to kill him, but after he survived the first bite he decided to take the gift as it was. Through (small) doses he had built up a tolerance (which had been miserable, but so worth it). He still had her bite him at least once a month to keep his immunity fresh. Her poison was a lot more lethal than his prefered poisons, but it was a good last resort.

Plus the _‘oh no I’ve been bit by a deadly snake, I’m dying!’_ routine was a hilarious party trick (and an excellent way to make people drop their guard around him).

“O-kaaay. Well, offense intended, but I’m going to keep petting the nice, non-venomous doggy instead, thanks.”

“Probably for the best. Vish doesn’t really like anyone who isn’t me.” He winked. “Just a little heads-up if you ever think breaking into my room is a good idea.”


	2. Maybe he's Oblivious. Maybe he's a Moron. Maybe it's Maybelline

Claude, much as he promised, was  _ not _ late to class like yesterday. He slept in longer than he meant to (the recently named Noodle liked to sleep over his face, which made waking by sunlight impossible), but he was still on time (barely). He didn’t even have time to feed the poor kittens. He left them some solid food— hopefully they’d try that out. Then he’d be able to stop sneaking cream from the dining hall. He was pretty sure the cooks were catching on to his thievery.

He was ignoring the fact that he woke up with  _ two _ birds on him this morning instead of just the one. He needed to learn to shut his window at night. Pretty soon his bed would be covered in them if he wasn’t careful. He did  _ not _ want a repeat of the bird-incident of 1169. Or the bird-incident of 1170. Or the eagle-and-owl-incident of 1173. Or the bird-incident of— He just really needed to avoid another bird-incident.

(Even though bird-incidents were  _ hilarious. _ On second thought, watching Seteth deal with a bird-incident would be the highlight of his life.)

Unfortunately, his rush meant he didn’t have time to properly say goodbye to Noodle. The poor baby wyvern was  _ very _ needy. His heart threatened to break hearing her whimper through his door. Yes, he felt bad for leaving her in his room. But he didn’t have much of a choice.

So he wasn’t surprised to hear scratching at the classroom door an hour later. When Teach opened the door, Noodle bounded in beelining for him. He sighed. “Noodle—”

He didn’t have time to say anything else. The little wyvern leapt at him, slamming her skull into his gut with the force of a punch from a semi-motivated Hilda. He wheezed, nearly falling out of his chair as he doubled over. Unconcerned with the not-insignificant amount of pain she inflicted, she cried at him. Claude might have felt more sympathetic if he wasn’t currently clutching his stomach.

Unsatisfied with his response— more wheezing— she clambered up his side. Her claws dug past his uniform, biting into his skin. Unlike the kittens, Noodle was big and sharp enough at her young age to force him to listen to her complaints via violence. She perched on his shoulder. Perhaps she assumed he didn’t hear her first cry, because she started screeching right next to his ear.

“Hey, shh, no need for that,” Claude hissed, patting her snout and pushing her mouth shut.  She gave a mournful coo, smashing her skull into his neck in what she probably considered an ‘affectionate nuzzle’ but Claude considered ‘assault and battery’. He  sighed, reaching around to scratch her head. “Sorry Teach. Can I be excused to take her back to my room?”

Teach cocked their head, their blank expression giving Claude no clue to whether he was about to be punished or not. “Why don’t you keep her in the wyvern aerie?”

He winced. “She’s the runt of the litter, and bright white to boot. Her mother kicked her out, which is usually a death sentence. I overheard the Wyvern Master saying that he planned to let her die. Most people don’t know how to raise an orphaned wyvern around here.” Noodle finally calmed down, curling around his neck and flopping over limply. She gave a quieter cry, the kind of cry she  _ knew _ tugged at his heartstrings, the little brat. She liked to be dramatic about her suffering. “Her options are pretty much me or nothing.” Noodle whimpered, her big eyes begging him for affection.

“That’s horrible…” Marianne murmured.

“Other than being white, is she defective?” Leonie asked.

“A little small, but sometimes the smallest wyverns grow to be the strongest when given the chance.” He shrugged, then winced as Noodle nipped at his ear for the gesture. “And just because she’s albino doesn’t make her ‘defective’.”

Teach regarded Noodle with that soul-searching stare of theirs. “Will she willingly stay in your room?” Noodle returned their stare with her Big Sad Eyes™. 

“Not happily, no. But I should be able to lock down my room enough that she can’t escape in a short amount of time.” Noodle wheezed another sad noise. He patted her on the face.

“Would it be easier to let her stay with you here in class?”

Claude blinked in surprise, breaking out into a grin. “Well, sure. Aw, Teach, are you saying she can stay? So you do have a heart!” It seemed Teach couldn’t resist the Big Sad Eyes™ either.

“She can stay, so long as you keep her well behaved.”

He let out a sigh. “Thanks Teach, you’re the best. She’ll be an expert in swords in no time, sitting in on your lectures.” He went to rub the back of his neck, but aborted the gesture and instead gifted Noodle with more scritches. She nuzzled his hand in return. As if sensing that she won this round, she nuzzled into his neck, much more gentle now. His expression fought to remain steady as she began to lick under his chin.

“D’awww, I didn’t know baby wyverns were so cuddly!” Hilda cooed at Noodle.

Claude cleared his throat. “She’s very special like that.” Most baby wyverns were cuddly… just, usually not to humans. So he’d been told, anyways. Growing up, he’d handled a few baby wyverns, though never for a long period of time. They were affectionate, but none as much as Noodle.

“Claude, were you present when she hatched?” Teach asked.

Something about Teach’s question rang alarm bells in his head. “I might have been…”   


“I see. She’s imprinted onto you as her mother then, is that right?”

Other than the twitch in his eye, he didn’t let his smile falter. He refused to let his embarrassment show in front of the class again. “Wow Teach, are you a wyvern expert suddenly?”

They shrugged. “Wyvern young are only like that with their mothers. Thus, she must see you as her mother. Congratulations Claude, it’s a girl.” 

He hissed through his teeth, his ears growing hot. He leaned forward to whisper to them. “Teach. Did I do something wrong?” This  _ had _ to be a punishment for something.

They cocked their head, their blank eyes every inch of innocent. “Not to my knowledge.”

Claude gulped. Teach  _ totally _ knew that he was the one who gave Lorenz food poisoning last week. Noodle cooed, rubbing herself against the underside of his chin, as if to scream from the rooftops that Teach was correct.

Hilda giggled. “Poor Claude, it must be hard being a single mother!”

Noodle, by some cosmic coincidence, bobbed her head up and down towards Hilda as if to say  _ ‘yes, you are correct.’ _ Then she nibbled at his fingers when he stopped scratching her.   
  
  


* * *

  
  


Hilda silently grumbled to herself. This was  _ stupid. _ Why was she doing this again? The bush was roomy, sure, but she was just  _ asking _ to have gross bugs crawl on her. And the  _ dirt! _ Her stockings were getting dirty!

“Oh, a robin!” Marianne gasped, almost silent. Her face lit up into a smile that she never showed anyone out in the open.

_ Right, _ this was why she was huddled under a bush. She could care less about the birds, cute as they were. Marianne was  _ way _ cuter. It made Hilda’s heart flip that Marianne had ( oh so adorably and shyly) asked if she wanted to watch some birds after their excursion to pet Claude’s animals a few days prior. Marianne explained that birds didn’t like having multiple people around, so it would be best to hide in order to see them.

Hilda knew she was staring, but Marianne was too busy watching the birds to notice.

_ Meow! _

The birds they were watching scattered. Hilda expected to see a cat race through the area, but no such thing happened. In fact, now that she was listening for it, she could hear a lot of cats meowing in the distance. Turning her head, she saw a figure dart down the path to the dorms, ducking into the alley between the two dorms. A trail of cats followed the figure into the alley. A  _ ridiculous _ amount of cats.

Squinting, Hilda could just barely make out the figure from her hiding spot. More importantly, she could make out the bright yellow cape marking the figure as Claude.

Hilda exchanged a look with Marianne. “You think he’s carrying a fish or something?”

She shrugged. “That’s, um, that’s a lot of cats.”

Hilda agreed. Claude peeked out of the alley just enough to look in both directions. His eyes completely slid over her and Marianne. Then he looked down, and he smiled.

Her jaw dropped. She pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t dreaming. But no. Claude von Riegan beamed down at one of the cats twining between his legs, grinning ear to ear with the force of the sun itself. His eyes scrunched up from the force of his smile. 

He ducked back into the alley. If she hadn’t known he was there, she’d never have seen him (though the swarm of cats  _ was _ suspicious). Having locked onto him, however, she watched as he settled on the ground. The cats wasted no time climbing all over his lap.A bold one went so far as to climb up his back and on his shoulder. 

Maybe she was being a creep, but she couldn’t help it. His smile was just so different. He pulled out a string, letting some of the more playful cats chase it. Other cats were content to drape themselves over him like he was human catnip. A few of the cats pawed at his chest. He murmured something she couldn’t hear, flopping on the ground and letting the cats swarm him. 

Hilda couldn’t say how long she watched Claude play with the cats. It was a side of him she’d never seen. It came to an end when someone walked down the path.  _ Caspar, _ she noted with a mental groan. The  _ loudest _ student around.

The cats noticed Caspar even before she did though, perking their ears and turning in his direction. Claude repositioned the cats lying on him to the ground, standing up and brushing stray fur off of his jacket. His smile returned to the more controlled expression she was familiar with. With a wry twist to his grin, he casually leaned against the alley wall and crossed his arms. She was surprised he didn’t try and hide more thoroughly. 

Caspar rounded the corner, his eyes like stars at all the cats. The cats were less enthused by his presence, half of them scattering (but not going far, she noted). She watched Claude gesture to the cats, rolling his eyes and saying something to make Caspar laugh. His expression screamed ‘barely interested’. Had she not seen his earlier grin she might’ve been fooled too.

After Caspar left, Claude sighed. He knelt down, giving some parting headpats to the cats, grinning so hard his eyes squeezed shut. He picked one up, bringing it up to his face and bonking heads. Then he schooled his expression, brushed down his jacket, took two steps out of the alley, looked left and right, and upon seeing no one, sprinted for the dorm stairway.

The reason he ran was obvious a moment later when the horde of cats all took off after him.

“You saw that too, right?” she asked Marianne.

“He really does like animals… even if he tries not to show it…” Turning to look at Marianne, Hilda was struck dead by the cutest little smile  _ ever. _ Forget Claude! Marianne’s smile nearly gave her a heart attack.    
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Hey there Leonie.”

“Claude!” At the sound of Leonie’s voice, a nearby rabbit darted away. “Drat! Why’d you have to do that? I almost had it!”

Claude tilted his head, eyeing her simple bow. “Out hunting? Dining hall food not good enough?”

“I’m just keeping up on the skill. It’s useful. Never know when you might need to hunt your own meal.”

“Makes sense. You’re from a pretty small village, yeah? From a family of hunters?”

“Sure am. Grew up with a bow in my hands.”

“I can tell. You’re a wicked good shot— and you know that means a lot coming from me.” He winked. 

“Hah, thanks! You ever go hunting yourself?”

“Nah. I mean, sure, I’ve been on a few hunts. Never seemed fair to me though. I only hunt if I’ve got nothing to eat.”

“Not fair? Why not?”

“Well, you know. Just not much of a challenge.”

Leonie scoffed. “Not much of a challenge? You’ve only ever been on those fancy hunts the nobility pull off, huh. You ever gone hunting for  _ real? _ Come on, I’ll show you how it’s done.”

Claude hesitated before shrugging. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got to show me.”

Leonie rattled off the basics of hunting to him. Stuff he already knew. He doubted her version of hunting was much different than his. In Almyra, hunts were supposed to be very difficult (though he wasn’t so sure personally).

“Keep quiet, be patient. That all?”

Leonie shot him a look. “If you want to boil it down, sure.” They waited a few minutes before eventually she gasped, pointing. “Look!” She whispered, so quiet he almost didn’t hear her. “Across the clearing! There’s a deer.”

Squinting, he saw it. “Alright,” he whispered back. “So, we doing this with a bow or a dagger?”

Leonie gave him an odd look. “Dagger? Like, throwing it? How the hell do you hunt a deer with a dagger?”

“Like this.” He slipped the dagger out of his boots and into his hand. He stood up and ambled towards the deer.

“Claude!” Leonie hissed at him. He turned around to raise an eyebrow at her. She smacked a hand silently over her face.

He walked up to the deer. He gave it a few head pats. It sniffed his hand. His back to Leonie, he let his grin slip from his face. He hated hunting. He glanced at his dagger and then back to the trusting eyes of the deer. He wondered if it was one of the deer that liked to snuggle up to him when he took his forest naps. He felt a little queasy at the idea that Leonie might be hunting his nap-buddies for  _ sport. _ Sheathing his dagger, he turned back to where Leonie was hidden. “Yeeeah, not really feeling it.”

“Claude. What the hell.”

The deer’s ears perked as it tensed, its tail raising in alarm. Claude patted its flank. “Go on, shoo.”

Leonie exited the undergrowth. At the sight of her, the deer bolted.

Claude shook his head. “Like I said, it’s just too easy. Too easy, and too much work. I’m strong, but I’m no Raphael. Can’t say I want to spend my day hauling an entire deer back to the monastery to get sliced up.”

“How did you do that?”

He frowned. “Do what?”

“You just—” Leonie made a nonsensical hand gesture— “walked right up to it! And it didn’t run!”

“Calm and quiet. Like you said.”

“That’s not—  _ Goddess. _ Claude, how can you possibly  _ not _ be a skilled hunter? With a skill like that, you could give any hunter a run for their money!”

“Just doesn’t seem fair. That deer trusted I wasn’t going to hurt it. Bad decision on its part, sure, but still.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you telling me you don’t hunt… because you feel  _ guilty?” _

“What? No, no. Look, I’ve done it before. Just, only if I need to. Never understood recreational hunting. Like I said, it’s a lot of work.”

“You  _ do _ feel guilty.” She broke into a knowing grin. “You really do have a heart, huh.”

His eye twitched. “I’m not a sap.”

Leonie’s grin only widened. “Never said you were. But now that you brought it up— you’re a  _ huge _ sap.”

Claude rolled his eyes, throwing up his hands. “Think what you want.”

“But seriously, you have  _ got _ to teach me how to do that!”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


“Ugh. Why can’t the professor just find Claude themself?”

“Um, I think they have a lot to do…”

“Well so do I! It’s sunday!”

O-oh, I can look for him on my own… You don’t need to be burdened with helping me…”

Hilda sighed, waving a hand. “No, no. If the professor caught me, they’d have my head. Besides, we’re both already this far. I want to give Claude a piece of my mind for making us trek out here! We’re almost to the forest!” Plus, at least it was a good excuse to be around Marianne. She just wished it didn’t require so much  _ work. _

“Do you really think he’s out here? I know the Gatekeeper said he saw Claude head in this direction…”

“He  _ better _ be out here. Ugh.”

Her whining was interrupted as Marianne gasped, bringing her hand to her mouth. “Look!” she whispered.

Looking in the direction, her eyes widened. “Oh Goddess,” Hilda whispered back, “that’s adorable!” It was a struggle not to squeal at the sight. “I’ve never seen so many in one place!”

There was a pile of deer napping and lounging under the shade of a tree. The adults were cute on their own, but there were  _ baby fawns! _ Hilda had never seen a baby fawn in person before. She wanted to explode. It wasn’t just one fawn, but  _ six. Six! _ Judging by the tip of an ear she saw between two of the adults, there might be a seventh. It was the cutest thing she’d  _ ever _ seen, and she’d seen a lot of cute things! She was an expert in cute things!

“Usually they aren’t this close to the monastery…” Marianne murmured. “They’re all so relaxed… oh, Hilda, see how that one’s ears are facing us? That means she knows we’re here, but doesn’t consider us a threat.”

_ Scratch that. _ The baby deer were the second-cutest thing she’d ever seen. Marianne’s smile was beyond even the cutest of baby animals. 

Hilda settled on the ground (ugh, her skirt was going to get dirty…) She patted next to her. “C’mon, take a seat. You want to watch the deer with me, don’t you?” She made sure to employ her biggest, most pleading eyes. “We can look for Claude any time. It’s not our fault he’s impossible to find.”

Despite the way she bit her lip (cute!) Marianne slowly came to sit beside her. “Just for a little bit, then…”

This was even  _ better _ than birdwatching. Birds were cute, sure, but they had nothing on the fuzzy little deer (or Marianne). With the sun beating down, warm but not too hot, the calming noises of nature… she was getting drowsy. If her head started to tilt, landing on Marianne’s shoulder… it totally wasn’t on purpose (except that it was).  _ This  _ was the sort of lifestyle she loved. No expectations, just comfort and cute things. 

“I’m sorry,” Marianne whispered, nearly silent. “Um, my shoulder isn’t very comfortable.”

“It’s  _ so _ comfortable, don’t worry!” Hilda barely remembered to keep her voice down. “Where else would I rest my head? I’m just,” she yawned, long and loud,  _ “so _ sleepy.” An idea came to her. “Unless, you’ll offer me your lap?” She looked up through her eyelashes for added effect.

“I— um, um, I, I guess, um, you wouldn’t want to sleep on the ground, I guess… Y-you can rest on my lap… um, you’ll be disappointed, though.”

“Disappointed? Please, as if!” She laid down on Marianne’s lap, her head filled with joy. “Mm, you’re  _ super _ comfortable! If you don’t let me do this more often, I’ll be really hurt, got it?”

“I, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”

“Shhh…” Hilda raised a finger to Marianne’s lips. “Nap time.”

“Oh, okay. S-sorry.”

Deciding to push her luck, she wrapped her arms around Marianne’s waist and got comfortable. She peeked up at Marianne, who was holding her hands awkwardly above Hilda’s head. She was  _ so cute. _ “You can put your hands on my hair.”

“Okay…” Marianne settled her hands on Hilda’s head, gently at first before relaxing (slightly). Hilda  _ definitely _ needed to do this more often. Marianne would do great with a little more confidence, and Hilda was happy to provide an outlet for her to practice. 

“Are the deer still being cute?” she murmured into Marianne’s lap.

‘Yes…”

Hilda hummed, lazily opening her eyes to gaze at the herd of deer. There was no possible way her day could get better. She was lazing about with her favorite girl, treated to a cute sight, and cozy in the sunlight… 

_ Absolutely perfect…  _

“H-Hilda?”

Smacking her lips, she realized she actually  _ had _ fallen asleep. Looking up, she was once again treated to Marianne’s adorable face, now enveloped in the glow of evening sunlight.

“Sorry I woke you… We, um, should probably go back soon…”

Hilda yawned. “Aww, but I’m so comfy!”

“Shh...”

_ Oh yeah, _ she remembered,  _ the deer. _ Rolling her head, she smiled at the deer. They were mostly still in the same spot, though some of the fawns seemed to have moved about. At least three of them laid between two of the adults. She frowned, noticing something out of place. There was something black and gold on one of the deer’s back. Fabric, she realized. At the end of the fabric was a hand. It was almost the same color as the deer’s golden-brown fur… 

Hilda squinted. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Oh, um, I found Claude…”

_ “Claude?!” _

At her shout (oops), one of the little fawns bolted. A second later from between the two deer rose a head.  _ Claude’s _ head. His hair was sleep mussed, green eyes blinking rapidly.

“Nnghuh?” He elegantly articulated.

Hilda sat up fast enough to make herself dizzy. “Was he there the whole time?!” 

His confusion melted away, replaced by his usual smirk. He waved, wiggling his fingers. “Well well well… You two aren’t scarring these innocent little deer eyes, are you?” He cupped the chin of one of the fawns. Incredibly, the fawn leaned into his touch, nuzzling his hand. He scratched the little deer’s chin, never breaking eye contact with Hilda. “Might want to find somewhere more private next time.”

“Claude! Ugh, I was just taking a nap. Like  _ you _ were, apparently! You’ve got no room to judge!”

His wicked grin said otherwise. “Hey now, you two are the ones that decided to bring your date to my secret nap spot.”

“W-we weren’t—”

“Claude, I would  _ love _ to be on a date instead of here. But  _ no. _ The professor sent us out to look for you! My  _ entire _ day’s been wasted because of you!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You call that wasted? You’ll hurt Marianne’s feelings.”

“No, um, it’s okay, I know I’m not good company…”

“No!” Hilda whirled away from Claude to face Marianne instead. “Don’t listen to him. I had a wonderful time! We should— no,  _ need—  _ to do this again!”

“But, you said…”

“We’ll talk about this later.” When  _ Claude _ wasn’t eavesdropping. “You’re perfect Mari, don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“But, I’m not—”   


“Nope! I won’t hear it!”

“Hilda’s not wrong,” Claude called. “You two make a great couple!”

Hilda fixed Claude with her best deathglare. “If you weren’t covered in deer, I would kill you.”

He clutched his chest, gasping. The little deer he had been petting gave him a surprisingly expressive display of annoyance as he stopped petting it. “Kill me? Your best friend? Betrayal!”

“Hmph. You aren’t my best friend— Marianne’s my bestie! Right, Mari?”

“I, no, I’m sorry Claude, I’m—”

“You let me sleep in your lap, Mari. Claude’s never done that, so his bestie rights are now revoked.”

“Not my bestie rights! How will I ever go on?”

Hilda bit her lip to keep from laughing as one of the adult deer bracketing Claude leaned over to nuzzle his hair. “Those deer can be your new besties.” Hilda stood and stretched, offering a hand to Marianne. “Welp, our job is done! The professor wants to see you, Claude. Now let’s head back and get dinner— I hear they’re serving cheesy verona stew tonight! That’s one of my absolute favorites!”

Marianne hesitated but  _ did _ eventually take Hilda’s hand, much to her eternal delight. “Um… I like it too…” She hid her eyes behind her bangs, fidgeting with her hands. 

Hilda was interrupted from her Mari-watching by Claude. Specifically, his shout. “Hey! No, no, come on…”

She burst into laughter, doubling over and clutching her stomach. The two deer bracketing him apparently didn’t want to end their nap session. One of them nudged Claude’s chest before laying its head down onto Claude’s lap. The other deer shifted to curl up behind him, leaving him fully surrounded. One of the (multiple) fawns on his legs clambered over the neck of the deer in front of Claude, standing on two legs and doing its best to climb him. It nearly fell, forcing Claude to steady it with his arm. It used this opportunity to make itself comfortable in his arm, for all appearances falling asleep immediately. 

She was crying, she realized. If the deer-antics weren’t enough, Claude’s look of sheer betrayal was  _ devastating. _ The glare he shot her only made her laugh harder. She watched him wiggle a bit, trying to extract himself. Apparently he wasn’t willing to shove the deer away from him though, leaving him trapped. Another adult deer, one that had been nearby but not next to Claude, came over and curled up on top of his legs, trapping him further.

“Oh Goddess, they’re holding you hostage!” Hilda threw back her head, tears streaming down her face. “What are you, the world’s best deer-pillow?”

“Um… do you want some help, Claude…?” 

“Please! Oh, come  _ on!” Another _ fawn climbed into his arms.

“Mari, don’t you  _ dare _ help him. This is the best entertainment!” She gasped through her laughter. She couldn’t breathe! “Besides, he could totally push those deer away if he wanted to!” 

“Har har. I’ll revoke your animal visiting rights.”

She wiped her arm across her face, gasping for air. “I forgot! No wonder you’re so desperate, cheesy verona stew’s one of your favorites too!” She burst into another peel of laughter.

Claude grumbled something she couldn’t hear past her mirth.

Marianne took pity on Claude, slowly approaching the small herd. Hilda couldn’t believe how friendly the deer were. Hilda quieted her laughter to better watch as Marianne began whispering to the deer, petting them. Slowly but surely, the deer shifted at Marianne’s coaxing, freeing Claude.

The moment he was able to, Claude sprang up and away from the deer. “Sweet freedom! You’re a lifesaver, Marianne!” He was still holding the two baby deer in his arms, she noted.

Hilda, deciding to press her luck, walked over to the pair. The deer didn’t mind Claude or Marianne, so maybe she could… 

As soon as she got close, the deer all tensed. She pouted. She wasn’t even within touching distance! “Ugh, how come I’m excluded from the deer club? This isn’t fair!”

Claude snickered. “It’s what you get for not lending a helping hand.” His snickers died off, his smile turning into a contemplative frown as he looked down at the deer. “Huh, wonder why they don’t like you…” Claude took a step towards her, eyeing the pair of fawns in his arms. Their ears flared out towards her, but they didn’t try to struggle out from Claude’s arms. Their beady little eyes just stared up at Claude as if he was the Goddess made flesh. Or maybe a really tasty leaf. She didn’t know deer language.

Hilda slowly reached out to pet one of the fawns, biting her lip in excitement. The fawn didn’t look too pleased with her, tilting its head away, but otherwise it allowed her to get close.

Then Claude took a step back and out of reach, a vindictive smirk on his face. “Here Marianne, wanna pet them? As a reward for helping me.”

“Hey!”

Claude threw a shit-eating grin at her. “Whoops, slackers that don’t help their pal don’t get to pet the deer. What a shame.”

Hilda crossed her arms, already plotting her revenge. How  _ dare  _ he. She took a slow, careful step towards the other deer. She watched them all tense, much to her frustration. She didn’t want them to run from her! She crouched down, hoping to draw one of the fawns over to her. Unfortunately, she had no such luck.

“Yeesh, they really don’t like you,” Claude commented, contemplative look back on his face. He settled the fawns back on the ground. He was forced to push them back towards the herd when they circled his legs.

If it wasn’t for  _ Animal-Magnet-Claude _ and  _ Animal-Whisperer-Marianne, _ Hilda would say the deer liked her a  _ lot _ to let her get even this close without bolting. Those two were making her look bad by comparison. The weirdest thing (at least,  _ one  _ of the weirdest things,) was how genuinely confused Claude looked at how the deer weren’t fawning over her like they did with him. Granted, she was equally confused in the other direction: why in the world did the deer drape over Claude like he was a long lost son?

He snapped his fingers, understanding replacing his frown. “Perfume! That’s gotta be it. Deer have sensitive noses, so you probably smell too strong for them.”

Hilda half-laughed, waiting for Claude’s punchline. It never came. He couldn’t seriously think that was the only reason… right?

“Anyways, I’m starving! Nothing like a good bowl of stew after a perfect nap, right girls?” Arms behind his head, Claude started wandering off towards the monastery.

Marianne gave the deer a few parting pets before returning to Hilda. “Um… thanks for, um, spending time with me… e-even though it was just because the professor forced you to…” She fiddled with her hands, looking at her shoes. “It was nice…”

Hilda beamed, her previous Claude-centric thoughts tossed out of her head like week old garbage. She flung her arm around Marianne’s shoulder, eliciting an adorable  _ ‘eep!’ _ from her. “Oh my  _ gosh  _ Marianne, you have  _ no _ idea how much fun I had with you! We  _ have _ to hang out more often! In fact—”

She continued to gush Marianne’s ear off. Most of all, she was satisfied to see the small smile still on her face. She would build up Mari’s confidence if it was the last thing she did!   
  


* * *

  
  


“How did none of us ever notice this? It’s not even subtle.”

“Notice what?” Claude asked as he swatted (gently) at another bird. It hopped off his shoulder to avoid his hand, settling on his other shoulder with two more birds. He switched to swatting at that shoulder instead, the three birds scattering to perch somewhere else on his body. Two landed on his head, the third retaking its perch on his other shoulder. Unfortunately, they seemed aware of the fact that he wouldn’t actually strike them despite his threats.

“Wow Claude, you’re so popular with the birds!” Raphael’s eyes shone. “Can you teach me?! I want a birdie on my shoulder too!”

“You’re welcome to take these freeloaders.” Another bird descended from above to perch on his outstretched arm. 

“I’m surprised Raph’s shouting hasn’t scared them all away…” Leonie murmured.

“Oh, sorry!” Raphael whispered loudly. “I’ll be quiet!”

“Please, shout all you want.” He brushed a hand through his hair. The birds hopped off of his head, but as soon as he dropped his arm they settled back into his hair.

“Have you been feeding them or something?” Leonie asked.

“Nope.”

He heard Ignatz give a very quiet laugh. “It’s like you’re covered in catnip, but for birds.”

Claude gave a long sigh. He jerked his head forward and hung upside down. Unfortunately, this only earned him a few loud bird chirps as they relocated to his back.

“Perhaps you should transfer to the Black Eagles, with how much of an affinity you have for birds.” Lorenz, of all people, actually seemed to be  _ teasing _ him.  _ He _ was supposed to be the one teasing Lorenz, not the other way around!

Hilda snorted. “Can you imagine half a dozen eagles all over him? These little song birds are more than enough. He’d collapse!”

Truthfully, he didn’t mind the birds using him as a perch. It was just that he was  _ surrounded _ by his classmates. Though he’d only admit it to himself, he was very fond of birds. It was nice when they perched on him. He didn’t even mind them breaking into his room at night to sleep with him if he was being honest. Birds made excellent alarms when it came to strangers approaching (though not so great alarms for not being late to class). He was happy to let any bird make itself at home on his person. But only in _ private, dammit. _

He sighed, giving up. “Guess this is my life now.” He might as well accept his fate. 

Another bird swooped down to nest in his hair, making a total of three on his head. The one on his arm hopped down onto his hand. He waved his hand towards Raphael. The bird, as he hoped, flew off in that direction. It landed on Marianne instead though.

“O-oh, hello there!” Her face lit up in a smile. At least something good came out of this.

He picked up his bow. “Alright, enough gawking. We’ve got training to do, chop chop.”

The class didn’t move. “Are you going to shoot your bow with all of those birds on you…?” Leonie eyed him skeptically.

“Not like I’ve got a choice. It’s just target practice, the birds are smart enough to stay out of the way of my bowstring.”

He didn’t like the way Hilda’s eyes narrowed on him. “Wow Claude, you say that like you’ve done this before.”

He shrugged. “Sure. If I stopped practicing every time a flock of birds decided to flock to me, I never would've learned to shoot.” He strung his bow, heading over to the target range.

“Hold up! How often are we talking about, here?”

He raised an eyebrow. “No more than anyone else. Now, if I remember right, Teach assigned you with Raphael for axe training. In  _ that _ direction.”

Hilda stared at him for more seconds than was comfortable. “Riiiight.”

Leonie joined him at the shooting range. “You’re really gonna shoot a bow covered in birds.”

One of said birds cheeped on his head. “Yep.” He didn’t understand why everyone acted like it was such a big deal. The birds weren’t big enough to get in the way or anything.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hilda cleared her throat. “Thank you all for attending this very important meeting, my fellow Golden Deer! We have a vital matter to discuss today.”

Lysithea leaned back, her arms crossed. “Get on with it. Some of us have important things to be doing, not attending some  _ mystery _ meeting.”

“Um, Hilda,” Ignatz spoke up, “we’re missing Claude and Marianne…”

Hilda snapped her fingers at Ignatz, causing him to flinch. “Excellent observation! Claude is the topic today, thus he wasn’t invited. He’s busy taking care of Noodle for now, so we need to finish this meeting before he decides to snoop. And Marianne isn’t here on the off chance that she’s got the same problem as Claude, and I’m not going to risk hurting her feelings.”

“Tell us Hilda, what has Claude done now?” Lorenz leaned forward, interest sparking in his eyes. 

Hilda tapped at the chalkboard behind her. Ignatz, at her request, had drawn a handful of animal heads, all facing a caricature of Claude. She took the stick of chalk and drew dashed lines from the animal’s eyes to Claude. Above Claude’s head she drew a question mark. “I have made an observation about this young man. It has come to my attention that our leader— wise he may be in all things scheming and nosy— may very well be a moron. Downright clueless. Tragically naive. Don’t get me wrong, Claude’s my dear friend. My bestie, even. It is with all the platonic love in the world that I diagnose him as a blind moron.”

“That’s rather harsh,” Ignatz said.

“A ‘blind moron’ is a rather apt description,” Lorenz agreed with her.

“Is this about the animal thing?” Leonie asked, her face lighting up. “Thank the Goddess someone else noticed!”

“Yes!” Hilda barely stopped herself from crushing Leonie in a hug. “You understand!”

“Care to enlighten the rest of us?” Lysithea glowered at her.

Hilda tapped on the drawing of Noodle’s head. “Exhibit one: Claude adopted a baby wyvern, because he didn’t want to see her die. Now, I think we can all understand the sentiment. Noodle is adorable, and any naysayers in the crowd will be violently crushed— by someone other than me, because I’m a delicate flower.”

She tapped on the drawing of Butter’s head. “Exhibit two: Claude nursed this old dog back to health when he had a broken leg. Again, an understandable setitment. However! Consider this, my fellow Deer: who out of us all would be confident enough to approach an injured dog?”

She saw comprehension begin to color Ignatz’s eyes. “I never thought of that. You’re right, injured animals usually lash out. Even nice ones…”

“Exactly! Now, exhibit three!” She tapped at the trio of cat heads. “A sickly cat delivered her kittens to Claude. Now, I don’t know about any of you, but personally I’ve never even heard of a sick animal giving away her babies to a complete stranger. Claude even admitted that he didn’t know the momma cat ahead of time! Think about the level of implicit trust!”

“We get it, animals like Claude,” Lysithea interrupted. “Who cares?”

“Exhibit four!” Hilda ignored Lysithea. She tapped on a drawing of a songbird. “The birds!”

“Saints, the birds…” Lorenz muttered.

“What’s wrong with the birds?” Raphael asked. “I think they’re great!”

“They absolutely are, Raphael. Raise of hands, class! Who here has ever had a bird land on them?”

No one raised their hands.

“Exactly! Birds love him! They sleep on him, perch on him, and all around want to be with him. Every bird wants this man! And this…” she slammed her hands on the desk, “is the issue! When questioned on how often birds perch on him, does anyone remember how he replied?”

Ignatz timidly raised his hand. “Um, he said ‘as often as anyone else’, right?”

“Yes! Extra credit to Victor! He also claimed he has practiced archery with birds on him in the past! Thus, we are led to the conclusion that this is not a one-time incident, nor does he consider it a particularly weird occurrence!”

Hilda tapped on the last chalk-head on the board: a deer head. “Our final exhibit! Deer! This boy—” she gestured wildly to the grinning chalk-face of Claude— “this human shaped  _ hunk of bread, _ is absolutely adored by deer!”

Leonie stood up, interrupting her. “I know this one! He can just walk right up to them!”

Hilda gaped. “You saw it too?!”

“I asked him how he did it, and he just shrugged! He said he was just ‘calm and quiet’! Like  _ that’s _ any answer! He just—” Leonie gestured wildly— “mozied on up to them like it was a normal tuesday! The deer didn’t even startle!”

Hilda leaned over and clasped Leonie’s shoulder. She looked deep into those orange eyes. “Leonie, I  _ feel _ you.”

Leonie slumped back into her seat. “He said hunting is easy! Of course it’s easy if you can just  _ walk up to the prey!” _ She shook her head. “If he wasn’t too much of a sap to actually kill the animals, he’d be the best hunter in the land!”

Hilda choked on her spit.  _ That _ was going into her nice and tidy little pile of Claude-related blackmail. “It gets better. Marianne and I found him napping a few days ago. In a  _ pile of deer. _ They were laying on him! Like a pillow! And then they refused to let him get up!”

“Maybe the deer around here are friendly…?” Ignatz suggested.

Hilda shook her head. “No, no. They tolerated Marianne getting close, but not me. And Claude looked  _ confused _ when the deer tensed up when I got close! Like he didn’t understand why a deer would run from  _ anyone!” _

“Are you trying to say Claude is unaware of his… ‘peculiar affinity’ for animals?” Lorenz slowly asked, his eyebrows raised. “That seems rather far fetched. Hmph, clearly he has a dastardly trick of some sort to attract these innocent animals. I must wonder, what does he gain from this?”

“I don’t know of any ‘trick’ he could be using.” Leonie looked over to Lysithea. “Unless there’s some sort of spell?”

Lysithea scoffed. “That would be a ridiculous use of magic. If such a spell exists, I’ve never heard of it.”

“Maybe he’s just a real nice guy!” Raphael suggested. “The animals like him ‘cause they know he won’t hurt ‘em!” 

“Nah, animals don’t work like that,” Leonie shot him down. “Besides, Claude seems to think it’s normal! He has a pair of working eyes, so how hasn’t he noticed that no one else gets entire flocks stuck to them like he does?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying! He’s a brilliant moron! A stupid genius! He’s  _ really  _ dumb!”

Lysithea harrumphed. “Claude’s an idiot, but he’s not stupid. He’s probably trying to play some sort of childish mindgame. There must be a reason why animals are comfortable around him. Maybe he feeds them.”

“I dunno,” Raphael said, holding out a chunk of bread, sadly eyeing the sky, “I’ve been trying to feed birds for days with no luck. I even asked Marianne if this was a good kind of bread…”

Leonie patted Raphael’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we’ll get Claude to catch a bird for you.”

He sighed. “I just want to be friends…”

“What’s the point of this?” Lysithea asked. “Either Claude’s aware of how odd his animal attraction is, or he’s not. So what?”

Hilda paused. Lysithea had a point. Hilda had only called the meeting so she could rant about the topic (and confirm she wasn’t going crazy). 

“Should we tell him?” Ignatz asked. “He’ll probably be embarrassed if we do…”

“That's if he believes us at all,” Leonie said.

Hilda mulled it over. On one hand, telling Claude might be funny. But then, if he was aware of how downright abnormal his animal magnetism was, he would probably do a much better job of hiding it. Which would mean less cute and adorable critters for her to look at.  _ Unacceptable. _ “We’re not telling him. In fact…” she drummed her fingers against the table, “I say we help keep his little ‘secret’.”

“Hilda, it’s not a secret at all.”

“Hear me out! He got away with it for, what, a month and a half before any of us noticed? Remember how embarrassed he was when the professor called him out? He might not realize he’s made of catnip, but he definitely doesn’t like people knowing he has a soft-spot for animals. So, if he realizes it’s not normal…” She trailed off.

“Then he’ll start hiding it.” Leonie murmured.

“Bingo! I am  _ not _ allowing all this entertainment to dry up. So, Golden Deer, who’s with me?”

“Yeah!” Raphael cheered. “Wait, what are we doing again?”

“I  _ will _ figure out how he does it,” Lorenz grumbled. “When I do, I’ll expose him for the fraud he is. He will learn to never underestimate Lorenz Hellman Gloucester!”

Lysithea stood up, turning to leave. “I’m going to do some  _ real _ work. Don’t waste my time with these frivolous things in the future.”

Hilda sighed as the Deer dispersed. At least none of them seemed like they were going to tell Claude. After quickly erasing Claude’s head on the chalkboard (because erasing everything else was too much work), she too left with the other Deer.

“Speak of the devil…” Lysithea muttered, pointing.

As one, the Deer turned to look at a nearby tree. Specifically, the person napping under the tree. Claude. Noodle slept on his face, sprawled out over his eyes like some sort of scaly sleep-mask. Butter was curled up beside his thigh. Two unidentified cats were curled up in his lap.

“How did it take us a  _ month and a half _ to notice…” Hilda whispered. She watched Claude’s breathing. With his mouth hanging half open, he was  _ definitely _ asleep. She’d seen him fake-sleep before, and this wasn’t it.

Lorenz hummed. She watched him narrow his eyes. “A perfect opportunity.” Lorenz crept towards Claude, stepping quietly.

Not that it mattered. As Lorenz got closer, there was a soft ‘ _ peep!’ _ from Claude. He immediately jolted, shifting his head and sliding Noodle off of his face. Claude tensed, his body going from  _ asleep _ to  _ alert  _ startlingly fast. He blinked at a wide-eyed Lorenz, his expression relaxing a few seconds later.

Claude’s eyes swept past Lorenz and onto the rest of them. “Having a secret meeting? Without me? Aww, I’m hurt.”

“It’s dinnertime, you dolt,” Hilda replied. “We’re having a  _ ‘secret’ _ meeting in the dining hall. With the rest of the school. Because it’s  _ dinner.” _

Claude yawned and stretched. “Wow, time sure flies, huh!” He wiggled the cats off his lap, standing up and brushing down his pants. He reached a hand up to his collar. “Alright, you had your fun,” he muttered to himself, looking down.

Hilda’s eyes bugged as she noticed the tiny puff of black sticking out of Claude’s shirt. He prodded at it. Claude’s shirt went  _ ‘Cheep!’ _ very angrily. He sighed, an exasperation she was beginning to be familiar with from him. He pulled out a tiny black puff of feathers from his shirt. And then another. And then a third. 

With three chirping baby birds in his hands, he turned towards the tree he was under. Standing on his toes, he deposited the three chicks into a nest in the tree. Patting his hands, he picked up Noodle and placed her on his shoulders before joining the Deer. He frowned. “What?”

“That… that was incredible!” Raphael burst, vibrating with excitement. “I didn’t even know there was a nest there!”

“Uh, right… Hard to miss when there are three noisy birds when you’re trying to nap, trust me.”

Raphael gasped. “I never thought of that! Of  _ course _ a birdnest cheeps! I’ll find myself a nest in no time!” Raphael took two steps away before performing a 180. “After dinner! C’mon!” Raphael slapped Claude on the back, making him stumble. Noodle squawked, but was powerless to help her owner as he was dragged by Raphael to the dining hall.

“A month and a half. A month and a half!” Hilda threw up her hands. “How did he fool us for a  _ month and a half!” _


	3. The Princess and the Dragon

“I can’t believe Claude von Riegan is a dead man.” Hilda made an exaggerated praying gesture. “Murdered by his dear Teach. What a way to go.”

“Maybe he has a good excuse?” Ignatz didn’t sound confident.

“Hmph. Unless he’s actively dying, we all know the professor will show him no mercy.” Lysithea shook her head. “Serves him right for being late again. He’s affecting our education too!”

“Um, Noodle probably slept on his face again… Maybe we should help wake him up in the future? It’s not his fault he can’t tell what time it is…”

“Pff, I bet he fell asleep in a pile of woodland creatures again.”

The classroom door slammed open. The professor strode through, no Claude in sight.

“Professor, are you letting him sleep in? This is double-standards!”

“Change of plans, class. Claude is missing.”

“What? He’s missing?!”   


Lorenz scoffed. “Don’t sound so concerned. No doubt he is off galavanting in some juvenile behaviour. His immaturity knows no bounds. Just another reason why he is not fit to lead, and why I am a far better candidate.”

The professor shook their head. “He didn’t feed his animals.”

_ That _ got the rest of the class worried. As much as Claude tried (and failed) to pretend he didn’t care about the animals that liked to flock to him, he was a giant softy at heart. He wouldn’t skip feeding them on purpose.

“Maybe he fell asleep in the library?” Ignatz guessed. “I’ve seen him there sometimes, and I know he stays out late sometimes…”

“I bet he got hungry and went to the dining hall!”

Hilda groaned. “Ugh, I bet he found some secret passage and just  _ had _ to investigate. Who  _ knows _ where he is.” She knew Claude, and that was  _ totally _ something he would do. Without backup. Why was she friends with such a busy idiot, again?

“Maybe he took a nap outside the monastery and lost track of time,” Leonie suggested.

“U-um… what if someone hurt him?”

“Claude is decently capable, as much as he is foolish and reckless. That buffoon can defend himself. And if not, I will gladly lead the class in his absence.”

Marianne wrung her hands together. “But, um, it’s just that… What if someone kidnapped him? He’s an important person, um, politically. Or what if someone tried to, um, end the Riegan line…?”

Hilda pressed her lips into a thin line. It wasn’t openly talked about, but people didn’t much like Claude in the political sense. Even in the non-political sphere, he was regarded with distrust and suspicion. And, though he never  _ said _ as much, she knew he was somewhat paranoid. The fact that his first instinct when presented with a stranger touching him unexpectedly was to  _ stab them _ made that clear. She wished she didn’t know that about him, but, well— he better be grateful first impressions didn’t mean everything.

She rested her head on her palm. “Ugh. That  _ better _ not be the case.” It was very possible, unfortunately.

Lysithea hummed. “He certainly has a way of getting under people’s skin. I wouldn’t be surprised if he said one too many irritating things to the wrong person.”

“What are we waiting for?” Raphael stood up. “Claude could be in trouble! We gotta find him!”

They split up into groups. Lysithea and Lorenz headed for the library. Ignatz and Raphael headed for the dining hall, gardens, and general outside areas. Leonie and the professor headed for the more ‘restricted’ areas of the monastery that students generally weren’t allowed in (but that the professor was). That left her and Marianne to check his room more thoroughly for clues, and then to comb over miscellaneous spots.

Hilda pursed her lips, staring at Claude’s door handle. She fiddled with the key that the professor lent them.

“Hey Mari, remember when Claude said his super poisonous snake likes to bite trespassers?”

“Um, actually, he only implied that.”

“You’re good with animals. Do you think it’ll try and bite us?”

“Um. Maybe. She seemed protective of Claude…”

Hilda threw back her head and groaned. “Ugh, why do we have to check his room again?!”

“The professor said they didn’t look very thoroughly. And—”

“It was a rhetorical question, you don’t have to answer.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Hilda thumped her head against Claude’s door. “Claude, if you’re in there, I’m going to kill you. Slowly.” She unlocked his door and cracked it open.

She was bombarded by meows as the trio of kittens squealed at her.

“Guess we better feed them while we’re here. Does Claude’s…” she shuddered  _ “snake _ need to be fed too? What do snakes even eat?”

“I’m not sure... “

They stepped into Claude’s room, scooping up the kittens so they wouldn’t run out into the hall. She noticed that Butter— Goddess that was such a  _ stupid _ name for a dog but she loved it— wasn’t in his room. Claude mentioned that he came and went a lot.

“Oh no, poor thing…” Marianne rushed over to Claude’s bed, her hands clasped over her mouth. The object of Marianne’s gaze was a pitiful looking Noodle. The white wyvern lay flat on Claude’s bed, looking far more depressed than Hilde even knew a wyvern was capable of expressing. Hilda was pretty sure wyverns didn’t have tear ducts, but Noodle looked seconds away from bursting into tears anyway.

Marianne rubbed a hand along Noodle’s snout. The wyvern gave a low, miserable cry. “Oh dear, Claude didn’t come back last night? It’s okay, it’s okay…” Noodle whimpered, clambering up to get closer to Marianne. The little wyvern raised her wings and tugged at Marianne’s shirt, big eyes staring at Marianne expectantly. It made Hilda think of a small child raising their arms to silently beg to be picked up. Marianne lifted Noodle, the wyvern immediately curling around Marianne’s neck the same way she did with Claude. Noodle gave a tiny cry, snuggling (adorably) against Marianne.

Hilda saw a glint of movement from under Claude’s bed. Her breath caught in her throat.   


“Mari,  _ don’t move.” _

At her words, Marianne froze. “What’s wrong…?”

Hilda gulped. “Claude’s snake is sniffing your ankle.” Hilda knew any sudden movements were more likely to have the snake react and bite before she could get close enough to do anything. Claude’s flippancy about the poisonous— venomous,  _ whatever—  _ viper was one thing when it was his only own wellbeing he was putting in danger. If that snake bit Marianne—  _ killed Marianne—  _ Hilda didn’t know what she would do.

“O-oh… h-hello there… U-um… You’re Visha… Vishakana? O-oh, Vishkayna. Sorry. We’re looking for Claude… he didn’t come to class, and we’re worried about him. Um, h-have you s-s-seen him?”

In any other situation, it would have been adorable to watch Marianne converse with an animal the same way she might a human.

“Um, please don’t bite me.”

The snake flicked its tongue.

“O-oh, you must care about Claude a lot… Oh! How sweet.” 

Hilda had  _ no idea _ what Marianne could possibly find sweet about a snake that could fell even the toughest warriors along the Almyran border. Even her brother knew to be cautious around Almyran vipers.

Noodle gave a little whine, nipping at Marianne’s hair.

“Sorry.” She patted Noodle’s snout, still maintaining eye contact with the snake. The snake flicked out its tongue again. “Oh!” Then the snake turned around and crawled back under the bed.

Hilda sunk to the floor, her head dizzy with relief. “Goddess, I thought I was about to watch you be bitten! Oh, my poor heart.”

Marianne fidgeted. “I-it’s okay, Hilda. Claude was right, Vishkanya is very sweet. S-she wouldn’t have bitten me, um, not unless I was a threat.”

“Ugh, I have no idea how ‘scaly, slithery, and deadly’ can equal ‘very sweet’, but I guess I’ll take your word for it.” One of the kittens she had forgotten about pawed at her for attention. Petting the fuzzy head was very therapeutic. How dare Claude keep the adorable things to himself all the time.

“I think, um, I think if we let Noodle out, she can lead us to Claude.”

Hilda’s eyes flew wide. “Oh, that’s brilliant! You’re right, she always seems to be able to track Claude down!”

After filling up the kitten’s food bowls (how much was she supposed to feed them? How much did kittens eat? She just filled the bowls to the brim. The kittens seemed happy with that), they exited Claude’s room. Sure enough, as soon as they shut the door behind them, Noodle leapt off of Marianne’s shoulders and scampered down the hall.

Hilda shared an amused look with Marianne before they both raced after the little wyvern. Noodle led them to the wyvern aerie, ducking inside as soon as they opened the doors.

Hilda hesitated. “You don’t think he’s in there, do you?”

“Noodle!” A familiar voice cheered. “I’m saved! Wait, don’t— nrk!”

There was a loud growl, something far louder and deeper than Noodle was capable of making.

Hilda stepped into the wyvern aerie, not sure what to expect. Whatever she might have expected, it wasn’t the sight she was greeted with. The bright white bundle that was Noodle should have been an arrow pointing straight to Claude, but she didn’t see him. Noodle wagged her tail, nuzzling the stomach of what had to be the biggest wyvern Hilda had ever seen.

“Hey— missed you too— stop that!” Claude’s pleas turned into a giggle.  _ Swear to Goddess,  _ she heard Claude  _ giggle. _

The giant wyvern huffed, and for a moment Hilda was worried that it would attack Noodle. Instead, the brown wyvern shifted and tucked Noodle under a wing. Right next to a mostly-covered Claude. Only his head was visible, the rest of his body completely hidden underneath the huge wyvern.

“Ah, dammit. Now we’re both stuck. So much for having you call for help.” Noodle gave a cheerful trill, nuzzling the side of Claude’s face. His smile softened. “Yes, yes, you’re very cute. Missed you too.”

Hilda cleared her throat. Claude’s eyes whipped to her, flying wide. He recovered quickly, throwing on an at-ease smirk. Maybe if it wasn’t for the darkening of his cheeks, or the fact that he was being  _ laid on by a huge wyvern, _ she might have believed him. Probably not. It was funny how often she’d seen Claude flustered since his little ‘animal lover’ secret came to light.

“Hilda, Marianne. Funny seeing you two here. Say, do either of you have the time?”

“You’re late to class, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Claude sighed, slumping his face into the dirt. “Do I get a pass? This seriously isn’t my fault.”

“Um, were you taking a nap with the wyvern?” Marianne asked him.

“I wish. Do I look comfortable enough to nap? I’ll give you a hint— there’s a mountain of a wyvern pinning me to the floor.”

He  _ did _ have some pretty thick bags under his eyes, Hilda noted. “So what, you’re stuck?”

“Yup.”

“And you’ve been there all night?”

“Since dinner. I’m  _ so _ bored.”

“Can’t you, like, wiggle out?”

_ “Wow, _ why didn’t I think of that!” Claude gave her a deadpan look. “Hilda, my entire body is under a  _ wyvern. _ Did you miss that?  _ No, _ I can’t  _ wiggle out. _ Besides, what do you think I’ve been trying to do all night? And morning, apparently. If I move too much,  _ someone—” _ he glared up at the wyvern— “decides to nip at my face.” As if the wyvern understood Claude, it gave a satisfied sounding rumble. “I’m not so prideful as to be unable to ask for help. So,  _ please, _ help.”

“How are we supposed to help? What, want me to lift the wyvern off of you? I’m too delicate. Pass.”

“Then go find the wyvern-master or Teach or someone.”

Marianne edged closer to the big wyvern. “Um, hello there…”

Claude hissed. “Careful, Marianne. He’s territorial.”

“O-okay.” She eased closer, despite Claude’s warning. “Um, could you please let Claude go? I— I don’t think he enjoys being sat on.”

The wyvern snorted, growling. Marianne froze.

“Oh, um, b-but if you don’t get up, Claude won’t want to visit you again. I-in fact, maybe he’ll start avoiding you.” Knowing Claude’s bleeding animal heart, Hilda doubted it.

The wyvern’s eyes darted down to Claude, giving a low grumble. It lowered its head, nosing at Claude’s face. Claude groaned in reply. The wyvern looked back at Marianne, keeping its head low. It rumbled another growl.

“Is the wyvern, like, trying to mother Claude or something?”

“Hilda, do you think mama-wyverns  _ sit _ on their young? He’s not trying to mother me.”

“Well clearly he’s not putting his full weight on you, considering you aren’t a Claude-pancake.”

Marianne cleared her throat, looking down at her hands. “Um, I think he, um… Claude, he likes you a lot. I think he views you as his… ‘treasure’…?”

Claude blinked in surprise before a look of understanding flashed over his face. “Oh no. I think you’re right. No wonder he won’t let me go.”

Hilda coughed. “Treasure?”

Claude puffed out a breath of air aimed at a strand of hair over his face. He wasn’t successful in blowing it out of his face. “Sometimes alpha wyverns fixate on an object or pile of things that they deem their ‘treasure’. A lot of times it’s something shiny. Could be a pile of gold, but most of the time it’s usually just a pile of shiny but worthless shards of colored glass. Think like a magpie, but on a bigger, toothier scale.”

“No offense Claude, but you’re not very shiny.”

“What, my blinding smile isn’t shiny enough?” He flashed said smile. “But yeah, that’s just  _ usually _ what they get attached to. Could be anything an alpha deems ‘valuable’. I’ve heard of a wyvern that kept a pile of books as his treasure. Sometimes they’ll deem statues that they like as their ‘treasure’. It can cause a bit of a problem if said statue is in the middle of a populated village.” His grin turned wry.

“So, this wyvern thinks you’re a Claude-shaped statue?”

“Nah, he probably thinks I’m a Claude-shaped Claude. It’s not unheard of for a wyvern to declare a person their treasure. Rare, but it happens. That’s why wyvern alphas usually aren’t used as mounts, despite their size. If an alpha decides his rider is his treasure, he won’t listen to them anymore.” He sighed, looking exasperated. “I visit all the wyverns around here sometimes after dinner. I guess this guy got jealous and decided he didn’t want to share me.”

“So how do we get you to  _ not _ be his treasure?”

Claude’s face twisted, uncharacteristically uncertain. “That might be a problem. There aren’t very many ways an alpha will willingly let go of his treasure. If another wyvern challenges him for me and wins, that would work. But I doubt any of the other wyverns around here are big enough for that, unless it’s another alpha. Then I’d be in the same situation with a different wyvern.”

“Um, what if we wait for him to go to sleep? Then you can slip out from under him…”

“Bad idea. I mentioned that alphas are very protective of their treasure, yeah? What do you think one does when their treasure gets  _ stolen?” _

Hilda winced. “Well, what else is there? It’s not like we can negotiate with it. Here, I’ll go find the Wyvern-master. Maybe he’ll know what to do.”

“Wait!” Claude’s voice had a rare note of panic, freezing her in her tracks. “Don’t tell the Wyvern-master! Get Teach instead, and whatever you do,  _ don’t _ tell the Wyvern-master.”

“Why not?”

“Just trust me, okay?”

Hilda put her hands on her hips. “I don’t want to go traipsing all across the monastery searching for the professor. Who knows where they are? The Wyvern-master is much closer.” She wasn’t lying, but she  _ also _ wanted to know why Claude suddenly thought it was necessary the Wyvern-master couldn’t know.

“No, you can’t tell him.”

“You suggested we get him earlier.”

“That was earlier, this is now.”

_ “Claude. _ Maybe I’ll just leave you here. How about that?”

“Hilda, come on! I’m serious!” At his shout, the wyvern alpha gave a deep growl towards Hilda, hunching its back in a threatening posture. “Hey, hey, shhh, it’s okay.”

The wyvern snorted a burst of air, ruffling Claude’s hair. It shifted, eyes still locked onto Hilda. She took a careful step backwards.

Claude’s face pinched. A moment later and he wiggled one of his shoulders free.

The big wyvern immediately noticed this and broke his attention away from her. The head snapped down to nose at Claude’s shoulder. The big creature shifted, using its snout to forcefully push Claude’s exposed shoulder back under its stomach. Then it brought its snout inches from Claude’s face, thundering a snarl at him.

“Claude…” Hilda whispered, afraid for one of her classmate’s lives for the second time today, “is it going to attack you?” She wished she had her axe, but she was unarmed. She didn’t like her odds of fighting a wyvern even with a weapon, let alone  _ unarmed. _

“No, he wants to keep me as safe as possible. He’s bluffing. You can tell by the way he isn’t bearing his teeth.”

“And  _ how _ certain are you?”

“Completely certain. He won’t hurt me— not intentionally, at least.”

The ten o’ clock bell sounded.

Hilda sighed. “I guess we  _ should _ find the professor to let them know we found you. The whole class was worried about you, you know.”

She expected a quip from Claude, something like  _ ‘aww, I didn’t know you cared!’ _ or something both arrogant and deflective. She didn’t expect to see Claude’s hardened expression, worry seeping through the cracks. “You need to find Teach fast.”

She refrained from rolling her eyes, mostly because Claude looked oddly serious. “Tell me why and I’ll go. Keep avoiding this kind of question and I’ll take all day to find the professor.”

“The Wyvern-master makes his rounds at two in the afternoon every day. There’s, ah, one other way to get a wyvern alpha to let go of his treasure.”

“Such as?”

“Put it to sleep permanently.”

_ Oh. _ Claude was afraid the Wyvern-master would put the wyvern down.

Marianne gasped. “Oh no. Hilda, we need to find the professor!”  _ Right, _ Marianne was probably the only person to exceed Claude’s bleeding heart.

“Okay, okay. That wasn’t so hard, was it Claude?”

“Just get Teach, would’ya? And don’t dawdle. Seriously. I’ve been trapped here for 16 hours now. I have to piss  _ so bad.” _

“Ugh, don’t tell me that. We’ll be back soon.”

  
  
  


Hilda and Marianne split up in search of the professor. 

The 11th bell sounded just before Hilda found the professor. Marianne trailed behind them. Oddly enough, Prince Dimitri was also with them. Hilda slumped in relief. Personally, she wouldn’t be heartbroken if that wyvern had to be put down. She knew both Claude and Marianne would be though, and that was unacceptable. “Marianne, good job! You did it!”

“O-oh, um, no, the professor found me, a-actually.”

“Marianne explained the situation,” the professor said, not pausing their stride towards the aerie. 

“Oh good! Do you have a plan, professor?”

They nodded, but didn’t elaborate.

Hilda turned to the Prince. “Say, Prince Dimitri, how come you’re following the professor?”

“Ah, I’m not certain myself. They asked for my assistance, but didn’t specify what they needed. I assume it involves Claude. Is it true? Is he being held captive by one of the monastery’s wyverns?”

Hilda snorted. “That’s one way to look at it, but yeah. Only him.” She didn’t elaborate that this wasn’t the first time Claude had been wrapped up in animals (though this was the first time it was a problem). The Deer all had their agreement to keep Claude’s little ‘secret’ an actual secret. As much as they could, anyways. 

“Is he alright?” Dimitri asked. “I must admit, it doesn’t sound comfortable.”

Hilda snorted. “He wasn’t comfortable, but he wasn’t hurt either. I think the worst pain he was in was suffering from boredom.”

“A-at least he has Noodle now. She should keep him entertained…”

“N… Noodle?”

Hilda burst into laughter at the confused look on Dimitri’s face. “Noodle is a baby wyvern that’s super attached to Claude. It’s  _ adorable. _ She follows him around everywhere.”

“Oh. I see. I suppose that is the ‘white reptile’ that I have heard rumored to cling to Claude’s side.”

Entering the wyvern aerie, they found Claude exactly as they left him. Noodle was halfway curled up, taking a nap under the alpha’s wing.

“Teach! Sorry I’m late to class, it  _ really  _ isn’t my fault.” Claude’s eyes drifted. “Heya your Princeliness. Come to gawk at the trapped fool?”

“No, not at all! My, you were right Hilda, that doesn’t look comfortable at all.”

“Teach, please tell me you’ve got a solution for me.”

They nodded. “Of course. Marianne informed me that an alpha wyvern can be challenged for his treasure, yes?”

“Yeah, but none of the nearby wyverns are strong enough or, frankly, care enough about me to challenge this big guy.”

“Will the wyvern accept a challenge from a non-wyvern?”

Claude raised an eyebrow. “Teach… I think I know where you’re going with this, but I doubt it’ll work. You won’t find a person with enough brawns to out-brawn a wyvern. And it has to be a physical contest  _ only. _ If you try to outsmart it, the wyvern won’t accept the challenge.”

The professor turned to Dimitri. “Do you think you can do it?”   


Dimitri rubbed the back of his neck. “What exactly does this challenge entail?”

Claude gaped. “You— you’re actually considering it.”

Dimitri gave a nervous chuckle. “Ah, I cannot say for certain I can beat a wyvern, but I am certainly willing to try for your sake.”

“My hero! But if you lose, you might get your hand bitten off.”

“He won’t.” Teach gestured to the sword at their hip. “I won’t allow it.”

“Well, if you  _ really _ think you’re up to it… The challenge involves two alphas locking their antlers and forcing the other into a position of submission. Head on the ground, flipped on their back, or pushed back a certain distance. Er, considering I’m underneath said wyvern, you should probably just try for bringing his head to the ground. You should be good to use your hands to grab his antlers, just make sure you keep them above your head. To initiate a challenge, stand a few feet away from the wyvern. Usually in nature the challenger will take a big branch— the bigger the better— and snap it in half.”

Dimitri nodded. “Understood. I believe this is within my capabilities.”

“Not gonna lie, I’ll be really,  _ really _ impressed if you pull this off. Also painfully indebted.”

“Claude, do not say that. I am lending you my aid freely— you will owe me nothing.”

“Ah, Faerghus chivalry. You won’t hear me complaining about it.”

The professor grabbed a long, thick metal pole with a hook on the end. “Will this suffice as a ‘branch’, Claude?”

“The feeding hook? Yeah, it’ll work great, but good luck snapping that in half. It’s metal. Bending it won’t count, it has to be snapped.”

Dimitri nodded, picking up the pole. He walked towards the wyvern. The big creature growled. Dimitri stood his ground. “So I just snap this?”

“Yeah, unless you want to growl back. Usually there’s a lot of grunting and growling, but I can understand if you don’t want to—”

Claude was interrupted as Dimitri gave a low, throaty growl. Hilda froze, thinking it came from a different wyvern for a moment. But no. Dimitri, Prince of Faerghus, just made a terrifying growl that went toe to toe with the giant wyvern in front of him.

Her eyes darted to Claude, gaping open mouthed at Dimitri. He looked rattled, but not out of fear. She didn’t have time to place the look.

Dimitri snapped the metal rod in two. Not, as she assumed, over his knee. With zero wind-up, he twisted his wrists in a smooth motion and  _ snapped _ the metal rod in half.

_ “Holy shit,” _ she heard Claude whisper. Noodle, now awake, chirped in agreement.

The wyvern must have accepted the challenge, shifting to stand. Claude tried to use this opportunity to bolt away, but the wyvern brought down its wing on his chest, pinning him. He wheezed. The wyvern spared him a glance. Hilda didn’t speak wyvern, but even she could hear the  _ ‘stay put’ _ order loud and clear. The wyvern moved its wing, and Claude stayed where he was.

The alpha wyvern lowered its head, bearing its antlers. It gave another growl.

Dimitri matched the wyvern’s growl. The wyvern’s head came down. Dimitri caught its antlers in his grip, grunting as the wyvern rose up to bear down its full weight on him.

Hilda, despite her laziness, understood strength. Gonerils were naturally strong, and she was no exception. She knew that the wyvern’s height and size advantage should have meant there would be no contest. Dimitri, by all metrics she knew, stood no chance.

His stance was steady as he braced the wyvern’s antlers above his head. She saw the way he shifted his stance moments before he performed the impossible action. She  _ knew _ what that shift meant, but she didn’t believe it even as she watched him perform the action.

Dimitri flipped the wyvern.

_ Dimitri flipped the wyvern. _

With a twist and a grunt, Dimitri flipped the wyvern to the side and onto its back. He swung his legs over the wyvern’s neck, as if he was mounting it upside down. He held the wyvern’s head down, one hand on its antlers and his other hand on the underside of its jaw.

Dimitri growled.

The alpha whimpered.

“Claude. Is this victory?”

“Uhhh… yeah. Yep. You’re good. Good. Good job. He won’t bother you. Or me. Holy  _ shit.” _

Hilda had to agree.  _ Holy shit. _

Dimitri got off of the wyvern. He wasn’t even  _ out of breath. _ “Oh dear, I didn’t hurt him, did I?”

Claude gave a strangled laugh. “Only his pride.”

Said wyvern eased itself back onto its stomach, backing away to the corner of its stall. It hunched in on itself, trying to appear as small as possible.

Dimitri wasn’t done there. Nope. He walked over to Claude, still on the ground, and offered his hand. Claude accepted the Prince’s hand, wobbling as he stood. His legs gave out from under him a moment later. Dimitri, the  _ fairytale prince he was, _ caught Claude before he hit the ground.

“Ahah, thanks. Legs are a bit shaky. From being under a wyvern. For sixteen hours.”

“Seventeen now,” Hilda corrected.

“Goddess! Claude, that’s awful!” Dimitri appeared unaware of how flushed Claude was turning from where the Prince held him upright against himself. “I’ll escort you to the infirmary at once. Are you hurt at all?”

“Nope. Fine. You’re fine.  _ I’m _ fine, I mean. Peachy, doing great. Better than great now. Just some bruises and cramps. Yep. Holy shit, Dimitri.”

Dimitri winced. “Ah… did I do the challenge wrong?”

“Wrong? Hell no! I’ve never been so impressed in my entire life.” Just as unbelievable as Dimitri’s feat of strength, she realized Claude was being  _ genuine and honest. _ Claude.  _ Honest. _

“It was nothing, really.”

“Nothing? Dimitri, you just won me in a contest of strength against a  _ wyvern.” _

Dimitri frowned. “I ‘won’ you?”

Claude latched onto that statement like a drowning man, easing his  _ rare as fuck genuine smile _ into his usual shit-eating smirk. “Oh yeah. That wyvern decided he owned me, that’s why he wouldn’t let me go. You challenged him for me and won. That means, in all laws wyvern…” Claude fluttered his lashes, lowering his voice to a sultry whisper, “you  _ own _ me, Dimitri.”

Dimitri’s blush rapidly exceeded Claude’s. “I, n-no, Claude I don’t— that is not—”

Claude burst into laughter. “Don’t worry so much, your Princeliness. Not many people care about the laws of wyverns, you know.” He winked. 

The professor cleared their throat. “I am glad you are unharmed, Claude. I will be giving you no punishment for being tardy today.”

“Oh thank the Gods.” Claude slumped forward in relief. She was 90% sure he had no idea he just went boneless to rest his head against Dimitri’s shoulder.

“Dimitri, thank you for your assistance today. My original plan had been to slay the wyvern, as regrettably that would have been the only other option. Claude was insistent that it be spared, however.”

“Teach!”

_ Oh, THIS was the professor’s punishment.  _ Claude had shared with Hilda how he was certain the professor had punished him for being late last time by revealing his secret sappiness (though not phrased like that). A fitting kind of punishment for someone that held his secrets so close to his chest. Now Dimitri knew Claude was a sap too. 

That, and Hilda was beginning to think the professor got amusement out of flustering Claude. Hilda knew  _ she _ sure did.

“That is very noble of you, Claude. Even after all the trouble he caused you?”

“Sure, sure. He doesn’t deserve to die just for being a little protective.”  _ A ‘little’ protective. Sure. _

Hilda snorted. “Oh yeah, just like how little Noodle ‘doesn’t deserve to die just for being a little different’? You’re getting sap everywhere, Claude.”

He glared at her.

“Speaking of, ah, ‘Noodle’… does she usually do this…?”

Noodle was weaving loops between his and Claude’s legs.

“Oh, usually she only does that with Claude,” Marianne murmured.

Hilda smirked. “Oooo Claude, you  _ know _ what her behaviour means, don’t you.” Hilda didn’t know exactly, but she had her guess.

“I have no idea, sorry.”

“Then why’s your face red, huh?” If he’d been red before, he was burning up now. 

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

The professor hummed. “Hm, Noodle is imprinted onto Claude as her mother. Dimitri just won Claude in a contest. As you said, Claude, Dimitri now owns you in ‘wyvern law’… Congratulations, Dimitri, you’re a father.”

“W-what?!”   


“Now hold on Teach, that’s a lot of assumptions!”

Noodle cried, her big eyes staring up at Dimitri. She performed her ‘pick me up pwease’ gesture.

“Are my assumptions wrong, Claude?”

Claude opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He tried again, managing a quiet squeak.

“Pst, Dimitri, that gesture means Noodle wants you to pick her up.” Hilda gave him a thumbs up.

“Oh, I see.” Bracing Claude’s entire weight with one hand, like he weighed nothing (something Claude’s wide, darting eyes showed he noticed), Dimitri bent down and scooped Noodle up in his other arm. She darted up and around his neck, the same way she usually did around Claude. She made a cheerful chirp.

“If she’s a bother let me know. I can take her from you, if you want.”

Dimitri eyed the wyvern around his neck. “If you don’t mind… she’s rather sweet. I never knew wyvern young were so… well, adorable.”

Claude made a small, almost silent choking sound. Hilda could practically see his pupils turning into hearts.

Hilda rolled her eyes. She was  _ never _ going to let Claude live this day down. She gave an overly sweet smile. “Oh, try scratching under the chin, Dimitri!”

Dimitri brought a hesitant hand up to Noodle’s throat, slowly giving her scritches. She preened under his touch.

“I meant Claude’s chin, but Noodle likes them too.”

“Hilda!”

Dimitri gave her a confused look. “Ah, what?”

“Ignore her. Wow, Noodle warmed up to you real fast. You’re a natural!”

Before Dimitri could reply, a growl interrupted him. Hilda’s eyes darted to the still cowering alpha wyvern in the corner of the stall, but she realized the sound was nothing like a wyvern.

“Oh, Claude! You must be starving! Oh,  _ Goddess, _ I was going to take you to the infirmary. Forgive me Claude, I was distracted.”

“Don’t sweat it, Your Princeliness. I  _ am _ starving though. And hey, it’s almost lunch, right? What good timing! You’re my  _ savior, _ I think I would’ve died for real if I missed sautéed jerky day. Let’s skip the infirmary.” Claude hooked his chin over Dimitri’s shoulder, giving a long moan. “I’m  _ starving…” _

Hilda brought a hand to her lips, struggling not to lose it. Dimitri looked positively scandalized by Claude’s moan. He averted his eyes, staring at the roof instead. “O-oh, sautéed jerky? That’s one of my favorites too.”

Claude snapped to attention. “Ah, it was fate! Bound by the love of the same food! To the dining hall!” Claude made it two steps before his leg cramped up and collapsed.  _ Again _ Dimitri caught him.

“No, I will be taking you to the infirmary.”

“Wait, but if we go to the infirmary now, they might be out of food by the time I’m released!”

“Um, Claude, we can bring some to you in the infirmary…” Marianne spoke up. “W-we’ll bring you some too, Dimitri!”

Dimitri smiled at Marianne. “That is very kind, thank you. It would be much appreciated.” He then aimed that smile at Claude, who fared much worse than Marianne. “There you have it, Claude. So, off to the infirmary?”

Claude’s resistance crumbled. “Alright, alright, you win. Here, give me a moment to—”

Claude  _ squeaked _ as Dimitri lifted him bridal style.

“I— I can walk!”

Hilda exploded with laughter. “Claude, you nearly fell on your ass trying to walk a second ago!”

“Is this acceptable, Claude? I’m not hurting you, am I?”

Claude flung his arm over his flushed face. “Am I heavy to you at all?”

“No, not at all. No heavier than carrying a cat.”

_ “Hnnugh.” _

“What was that?”

“Nnnnothing. I can walk, just let me lean on your shoulder.”

“No, no. I insist. I will not have you falling and hurting yourself, Claude. It’s no weakness to accept help from time to time.”

“Claude,” the professor interrupted, “let him carry you.”

“Huuualright.”

“You are excused for the rest of the day. Take this time to recover. Eat, drink, and definitely sleep. I can tell you didn’t sleep at all. Dimitri, can I trust you to keep an eye on him? Claude has a habit of pushing himself past his limits. As much as I appreciate his overachieving nature, at times like these he hates to sit still and rest.”

“Teach. Gods,  _ Teach.” _ It was the closest she’d ever heard Claude come to begging for mercy.

“You don’t mind, do you, Dimitri?”   


“No, not at all professor! I understand completely. I’m more than happy to lend my assistance.”

“Thank you. I’ll inform Hanneman of your absence for the rest of the day, and how helpful you have been. Ah, and if I could ask one more favor?”

“Certainly.”

“After Claude has been watered and fed—”

“What am I, a plant?”

“— please keep an eye on him in his room. He has a habit of reading when he should be sleeping.”

_ “Teach!” _

“That is all. Thank you again, you are dismissed.”

Dimitri gave a nod of his head, shifting Claude a bit. He tucked Claude against his chest, cradling his head. Claude’s expression was that of a heavily concussed person with how he stared ahead blankly. Plus, of course, the redness of his face.

Noodle gave an adorable chirp goodbye.

As Dimitri exited the aerie, she caught him saying “Oh no, Claude, are you feverish? You’re burning up! Being out all night must have been freezing, I hope you haven’t caught anything…”

Hilda held it all in for half a minute. She made  _ certain _ Prince Dimitri was gone. Then she fell to the ground with how hard she wailed with laughter.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Seriously, I’m fine.”

“Yes, I heard Manuela. It’s quite lucky that you suffered nothing worse than mild bruising.”

“Only bruising? Excuse you, you have no  _ idea _ how much I suffered. I had to piss  _ so _ bad.”

Dimitri patted his head. “Indeed, I’m sure it was awful.” Claude wasn’t sure if he was offended by how condescending it was, or if he liked it. Maybe both? There were a lot of things regarding Dimitri that he was suddenly finding himself uncertain about. 

“Right. So, we agree that I’m fine. Using Teach’s words: I’ve been fed, watered, took a bath, and otherwise taken care of.” And  _ finally _ took a piss, thank fuck. “We do agree on that, yeah?”

Dimitri looked down at him with a frown. “Yes?”

“Great! So why are you still carrying me?”

Dimitri rolled his eyes, sighing in exasperation. As if  _ Claude _ was the unreasonable one. “As I have said already, I’m taking you back to your room. The professor requested this of me. You were there.”

“They didn’t say you needed to carry me!”

“I know Manuela pronounced you with a clear bill of health.” Dimitri’s lips pulled into a worried frown. One that Claude noted was absolutely adorable, much to his mortification. “Yet you are still worryingly red.” Dimitri rested his hand on Claude’s forehead. “I can feel how warm you are through my gloves!”

“Nghk,” Claude replied. He found himself short circuiting a lot around Dimitri today. The reminder that Dimitri was holding his entire body weight with  _ one arm _ was enough to render him dumb. At least everyone else was in class. Claude might die on the spot if the entire academy saw him being carried bridal-style by the Prince of Faerghus.

“Besides,” Dimitri continued without mercy, “you fell asleep on the way to the infirmary earlier. Better for you to fall asleep like this than to fall over onto the dirt, wouldn’t you say?”

Claude wasn’t sure if he was grinning or grimacing. “I fell asleep for a minute, tops. Wouldn’t’ve happened if I’d been standing, you know.”

Noodle cooed, rubbing her face against Dimitri’s neck. She hadn’t left Dimitri’s side since he rescued Claude. Dimitri shot her a fond little smile, reaching up to scratch her head. In the short few hours that they’d been acquainted, Dimitri had fallen in love with Noodle, it seemed. Noodle in turn  _ adored _ Dimitri. He was starting to think she might like Dimitri more than him.

Not that he could blame her. Claude was finding it hard not to adore Dimitri himself.

_ Gods, _ what was wrong with him… 

The growl that Dimitri gave to the alpha wyvern kept replaying over and over again in his head. The image of Dimitri standing over him, battling a giant beast  _ for _ Claude… He really, really really needed to not be thinking about it while in  _ Dimitri’s literal arms. _

But how could he  _ not _ think about it? Dimitri flipped a wyvern! Dimitri flipped an  _ alpha _ wyvern! Dimitri flipped a  _ huge _ alpha wyvern,  _ for Claude! _

He tried to temper the weird feelings inside of himself by reminding himself that Dimitri only helped him on request of Teach. It wasn’t like he  _ really _ cared. But then again, Teach wasn’t around after Dimitri carried him out of the wyvern aerie. It was just Dimitri and Claude. No one around to witness if Dimitri snapped his neck, or dropped him, or kidnapped him… Dimitri could have gotten away with any of that. Claude was well aware he was somewhat helpless in Dimitri’s unfairly strong arms. Instead Dimitri  _ fussed _ over him. Had Claude ever been fussed over in his life? It was silly, frivolous, unnecessary, demeaning… and kind of nice?

Claude didn’t know what to do with himself. He was hesitant to believe Dimitri was being kind out of the goodness of his heart. And yet, he made Claude feel safe.

How terrifying. He needed to think of something else.

Claude never expected to be christened a ‘treasure’ by an alpha wyvern. Usually that sort of thing only happens when a wyvern  _ really _ liked the person. Like,  _ years _ of spending time together sort of thing. Otherwise it was usually too much effort for a wyvern to try and keep a person as a treasure. People didn’t like to stay in one spot, after all.

He was still half-convinced the entire thing had been a hallucination. Maybe he was still trapped under that wyvern, wasting away from dehydration. Maybe that was why Dimitri insisted on holding Claude— his exhausted brain was coming up with excuses for why he couldn’t move.

Really, that had to be it. Dimitri, flipping a wyvern? Couldn't be.  _ Real _ Dimitri wouldn’t be this…  _ tender _ with Claude.  _ Real _ Dimitri wouldn’t be able to win a challenge with a wyvern. Yeah, it must be a fantasy. Claude, feeling  _ safe _ with someone? Unrealistic. Dimitri  _ winning _ him,  _ claiming _ him, protecting him,  _ owning him…  _

“Still awake there?”

“Course,” Claude croaked.  _ Okay, _ so maybe he started to drift off. His face was lava. He’d been teasing Dimitri about ‘Wyvern-law’ before. It was just wyvern instinct nonsense, Dimitri didn’t  _ actually _ own him. Which, admitibly, to any other wyvern that witnessed the challenge, Dimitri definitely owned Claude now. Claude  _ should _ be balking at the very insinuation of  _ anyone _ owning him. But if it was Dimitri… 

_ Wow, _ Claude thought to himself,  _ I’m learning a lot of new things about myself. _

Claude was doomed. His fate was sealed. He was well and truly screwed. 

Maybe if he stared at Dimitri’s face long enough, he’d notice a horrible blemish or a hateful scowl or  _ something _ that he could use as a lifeline. Anything to stop the onslaught of intrusive thought about  _ Dimitri, Dimitri, Dimitri. _

He stared up into Dimitri’s blue eyes. He looked tired, Claude realized. Dimitri had just the faintest purple smudges under his eyes. His gaze was fixed on Noodle. A tension around his eyes that Claude had never realized was there in the first place was gone from him. He looked at the little wyvern with a soft tenderness that was breathtaking.

Then he looked down and unleashed that devastating look on  _ Claude, _ and it was all he could do not to explode. Or burst into flames.

Dimitri frowned. “Do I have something on my face?”

“Your face is perfect.” His brain caught up with his tongue. “Very face-like. Two eyes, a nose, and a mouth. Perfectly face-like.”

Dimitri huffed a laugh.  _ Oh thank the Gods, Dimitri assumed he was joking. _ “I should hope so.”

“Do you do this often?” Claude blurt. “Carry people around, I mean. I get the feeling you don’t flip wyverns all that much.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Do you do this for all of your classmates, or am I special?”

“Of course you’re special,” Dimitri said without missing a beat. “I would be willing to carry anyone who needed me. I am, ah, rather strong, as you saw…”

_Strong._ Sure. Yeah. _Rather strong._ _Holy shit Dimitri was strong._

Impossibly strong. Snapping solid metal rods in half like twigs _strong._ _Flipping wyverns strong._ Carrying Claude like he weighed nothing _strong._ Mouth-watering, deliciously, _extremely strong._

Strength, back home, was  _ the _ defining attractive trait of a person. Of course people had their preferences, but strength was pure undiluted  _ sexy. _ Claude was no different in this thinking. He’d never cared like  _ this _ though. Sure, strength was hot. He’d never cared all this much.  _ ‘That person has nice eyes’  _ or _ ‘I like their hair’ _ or  _ ‘Huh they’re pretty strong, that’s hot’. _ He’d never felt anything more than passive admiration. 

Seventeen years and he’d never had a crush. Was that what this was? Did he have a crush on Dimitri? Was that why he couldn’t stop thinking about how  _ amazing it felt to be held in his strong arms, oh Gods—  _

“Not that the situation often arises where I need to,” Dimitri was saying. Claude tuned back to the conversion. What the  _ hell _ was he even talking about? Had his voice always sounded so nice? Maybe Claude was delirious. Actually, that  _ had _ to be it. He was too tired for all of this, and the exhaustion was catching up with him. That wyvern crushed his common sense.  _ Hnn, what if Dimitri crushed hi—  _ “So I can’t say I do this often, exactly. You’re oddly quiet. How are you feeling?”

“Hah, you keep asking me that. And, me, quiet? I’ve never been quiet a day in my life.”  _ ‘Please crush me’, _ the insane part of him wanted to blab. “You’ll be begging me to shut up soon enough, mark my word. The only way to make me be quiet is to choke me, I’ll have you know.” He  _ burned _ as he thought about Dimitri choking him.  _ Well, that’s another new thing! _ He’d never thought about someone choking him in a  _ positive  _ light before. He weakly laughed. “I’m sure you’re too polite and princely to choke little ol’ me though. Bet you’ve never choked a soul in all your days, huh?”

Unexpectedly, Dimitri’s eyes slid to the side. His lips pressed into a thin caricature of a smile. “You have no need to fear me choking you.” Something stormed beneath that perfect princely mask of his. Something that Claude was achingly curious to see. The shimmer of guilt on his face—  _ okay, _ so apparently Dimitri  _ had _ choked a soul at least once. What else was Dimitri hiding? Suddenly, Claude realized he  _ needed _ to know. That growl from earlier, the ‘beastly’ way he fought on the battlefield back at the beginning of the school year, the dark look in his eyes as he stared down the wyvern… There was something underneath that princely face. What was behind his— “I enjoy listening to you far too much to consider it, as it were.”

_ Hrk, _ inner Claude said. How did Dimitri manage to sound so sincere all the time? “Oh, flattery will get you everywhere, Your Royalness. You might regret saying that, though. Just ask Noodle. She’s only two weeks old come tomorrow, and she’s already sick of my voice. Isn’t that right, girl?” Dimitri’s dark look was gone, as if it never existed in the first place.

Noodle chirped, scuttling off of Dimitri and down on Claude’s chest. Perhaps calling for her attention had been a mistake, as she immediately began lavishing him with wyvern-kisses. He brought his hands up to protect his face and neck, but he wasn’t fully able to protect himself as Noodle decided to use her knowledge of his ticklish spots for evil. She shoved her snout under his chin and started lapping.

“Noo-dle!” he grit through his teeth as he struggled to keep from squirming. “N-ot, heh, no-ow!” He pushed her face away, but she was a slippery little beast. “Hah!  _ Shit. _ Go ba-ack to D-D-Dimitreeee—!” He stopped trying to push her away and instead slapped his hands over his mouth as she lavished his neck and chin with licks. He muffled his laughter, but he was unable to stop from squirming.

A few moments later and Noodle ended her assault. He heaved a sigh. “Phew, thanks for the save.” He glanced up to look at Dimitri, who plopped Noodle back on his shoulders. She was content to lick at his chin and neck, though Dimitri apparently wasn’t ticklish. A little disappointing, but probably a good thing. Claude didn’t fancy being dropped. Dimitri was looking a bit pink, though. He also was biting his lip and not making eye contact with Claude.  _ Interesting…  _

“See what I mean?” Claude picked up where he left off. “She loves shutting me up.”

“Ah, here we are…” Dimitri murmured. Claude blinked, realizing they were at his door. It was unlike him to be so unaware of his surroundings. Then again, 36 hours without sleep was really catching up with him… Claude was about to barter for his freedom (despite feeling a bit reluctant to do so?) in return for unlocking his own door. Dimitri surprised him, pulling out a key of his own. That fit into Claude’s lock.

“Why do you have a key to  _ my _ door?” Claude asked slowly, his eyes narrowing.

Dimitri gave Claude a weird look. “Hilda gave it to me when she and Marianne brought us food. Remember?”

“Oh, right, of course.” He had no memories of that. He’d been far too busy stuffing his face with food.

Dimitri opened the door. Then Dimitri sucked in a breath, taking a step back and tensing. He shoved Claude’s face into his chest, pulling him close with both arms.

“Mmph?!” He was suddenly hyper aware of how firm Dimitri’s chest was. And how wide. Dimitri wasn’t  _ that _ much bigger than Claude, was he? Wow, Dimitri was clutching him  _ very _ tightly. Almost uncomfortably so, but not to the point of pain.

“Oh.” Dimitri relaxed slightly. “Apologies. Claude, why do you have a dog in your room? And, are those kittens?” Dimitri hummed. “I do believe that’s against dorm code. “

“Mmph.”

“Oh! Sorry!” Dimitri allowed Claude to breathe. “I reacted by instinct. Rather silly to attempt to protect you from a dog and some kittens, I suppose.”

“Hhhhhhuhey Butter, what’s up,” Claude mumbled, dangling his arm down to pat Butter’s head. “Better step inside before the triplettes escape, Prince.”

Dimitri closed the door behind them. Then he tutted. “Claude! Look at the state of your bed! When the professor said you read instead of sleeping, I didn’t realize it was this bad!”

Claude glanced at his bed/bookshelf. “It’s just efficiency.” Should he ask Dimitri to set him down now? Maybe the prince would forget and keep holding him… It wasn’t meant to be. Dimitri carefully set him down on the bed. “I’m not made of glass,” he muttered.

Dimitri bent down to greet Butter, his face lighting up. _Cute,_ was his first thought. _Maybe I’ve been poisoned,_ was his second thought as he stared dumbly at Dimitri. Someone must have slipped him an infatuation potion, or a love potion, or something. Claude was certain those things were myths, but he couldn’t explain why everything Dimitri did was suddenly either _cute,_ _endearing,_ or _unbearably sexy._

Dimitri and Butter made a good pair. Claude could easily imagine Dimitri wagging his tail just the same as Butter. “You’re definitely a dog person.”

“Well, I can’t deny it. They do make very loyal companions.”

“Gah!” Claude noticed the kitten’s food bowl. He stumbled to his feet. “Who did this?!”

“What’s the matter?”

Claude gestured wildly at the food bowl. “This is half full! That’s too much.” He noticed Sun slinking closer, edging her head over to the food bowl. “Hey! Nope, you’ve been gorging yourself all morning, haven’t you.” He picked up the bowl. Sun meowed at him. He grumbled, emptying the food bowl for later. He set the empty bowl back on the ground. Sun eagerly peeked over the rim, only to be crushed when she saw there was nothing inside. Looking around his room, he noticed Star passed out under his desk in a food coma. Moon was sprawled out on his bed belly-up, also in a food coma. Sun flopped over against his boot, looking up at him with begging eyes. He knelt down and patted her head. After a moment of staring at her pitible expression, he scooped her up and held her. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he whispered to her as she snuggled into his arms. He petted at her tummy. “Ooh yeah, someone’s full. Silly cat, you’ll make yourself sick.”

“What’re their names?”

Claude jumped out of his skin as he remembered that he wasn’t alone. He cleared his throat. Turning around he was forced to look away from Dimitri after only a moment of exposure. Really, Dimitri was like looking at the sun. Butter was at his side, Noodle on his shoulder, and he had that  _ stupid _ soft look directed right at Claude. Dimitri was going to melt him at this rate. Or crush him. Or turn him brain dead. Maybe all three if he was lucky.

Claude introduced Dimitri to the animals after extracting a promise to keep them all a secret. He was a bit surprised that honorable, rule-abiding Dimitri seemed to have no issues with Claude’s little smuggled friends.

Then again, who in their right mind would have an issue with kittens and a dog?

Claude’s jaw cracked with a yawn. He fished his arm under the bed until Vishkanya twined between his fingers. He yawned again as Vish decided to investigate him for injuries. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” he murmured. When she was satisfied by the lack of blood-smell on him, she relaxed. He pointed her head towards Dimitri, waiting for her to flick her tongue in his direction. “That’s Dimitri, don’t bite him. I’ll get in trouble if you do.” ‘Trouble’ was a bit of an understatement for killing the Prince of Faerghus. He brought his hand (and by extension, Vish) to his mouth as he yawned a third time. “Dimitri, this is Vish. She’s a snake.”

“I can see that,” Dimitri replied with humor in his voice. “You have quite the menagerie.” Dimitri yawned this time.

He settled Vish back under the bed. “Uh-huh, yeah.” He fought to keep his eyes open. “Wow, what a day.”

  
  
  


_ He dreamed of Dimitri. Dimitri rode atop Butter. Both of them were much bigger than Claude remembered. Dimitri had a long furred cloak billowing behind him. He looked very regal. _

_ He waved to Dimitri, but realized his arm was trapped. His entire body was trapped. He was trapped under a dragon. _

_ Dimitri dismounted from Butter, issuing a challenge to the great dragon that held Claude captive. The dragon accepted. Dimitri threw off his cloak, and then his tunic as well. He began wrestling the dragon. _

_ Dimitri beat the dragon, barely breaking a sweat. He reached out to Claude. Claude couldn’t move to accept his hand, but it didn’t matter. Dimitri swept him up in his arms, swaddling him. “My reward,” Dimitri murmured to Claude, his soft eyes looking only at Claude. “You’re mine now. My treasure.” Dimitri’s soft look fell away. Something darker replaced the look. Protective. Possessive. “I’ll keep you safe.” _

  
  


He didn’t know what woke him up. Probably one of the animals. He debated whether he should deal with it or just go back to sleep. He was comfortable and warm and snug under a mountain of heavy blankets… He vaguely remembered having the  _ best _ dream. Dimitri… mmm, holding him… 

He grimaced, realizing Noodle was on his face again. Hopefully it wasn’t morning yet. He couldn’t afford to be late to class again.

Claude went to push Noodle off his face, only to realize he couldn’t move his arm. He jolted, and found himself completely immobilized. He was completely pinned. His arms were stuck against his chest. Something was breathing against his throat. In fact, something was  _ on top of him. _ Something heavy.

The only thing that kept him from outright panicking was the fact that Vish was peacefully curled up around his ankle. If he was in danger, she wouldn’t be relaxed.

He wiggled his neck enough to slide Noodle off of his face (though, not without a scrape against his cheek for his troubles). He blinked in the darkness of his room.

Dimitri was holding him. Dimitri was sleeping with him. Dimitri was  _ on top of him. _

_ Oh,  _ Claude realized,  _ I’m still dreaming. _

Except, his cheek stung from where Noodle scratched him. He wasn’t dreaming.

He wasn’t wearing his boots or jacket. He couldn’t remember taking them off, but he didn’t remember falling asleep either. Dimitri clutched him like he was a Nader-bear (what were they called in Fódlan again? Bear stuffies?) Claude realized he was somewhat tucked under his blankets, but Dimitri was haphazardly sprawled out on top of them. Did Dimitri accidentally fall asleep on top of him?

Claude wiggled a bit. Dimitri’s arms remained firm. Objectively, that should  _ definitely _ terrify Claude. Being held down against his will, no way to escape? He had nightmares about this kind of thing all the time. He wiggled again, harder this time. He made his best effort to break free, straining.

_ Dimitri didn’t even budge. _

He stopped squirming. He didn’t feel afraid. In fact, he felt very  _ not _ afraid. The opposite of afraid. Which made no sense. He was trapped. But he was also warm and cozy and— 

_ Safe. _

He  _ could _ escape. He could elbow Dimitri in the kidneys. He could start screaming until Dimitri let him go. He  _ did _ have options. He didn’t want to escape, though.

Maybe, just this once… 

He closed his eyes.  _ Heh. _ He really  _ did _ go from one wyvern alpha to another…

He found he  _ really _ didn’t mind.  He was learning _so much_ about himself.

Come morning he woke to Noodle’s chirping and Dimitri’s failed attempts to shush her. Opening his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of a flushed Dimitri tugging on his boots…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Byleth: Claude is very kind, he avoids killing when he can  
> Dimitri: That’s quite admirable!  
> Byleth: He’s such a hard worker, so good with his studies, he’s just so competent. He overworks himself to the point of exhaustion because he cares too much.  
> Dimitri: How noble!  
> Byleth: Please carefully attend to his every need for the rest of the day. Don’t take your eye off of him. Stare at him. Deeply. Look into those pretty green eyes.  
> Dimitri: They are very pretty…   
> Byleth: Stay in his room with him. All night. All morning too. But take some time to relax yourself too. Both of you deserve some rest. Claude’s bed is very big, he won’t mind sharing.  
> Dimitri: Well…  
> Byleth: In fact, Dimitri, Claude gets very, very cold at night. Look at the poor boy, he was forced to be in the cold all last night. Please make sure he is warm tonight.  
> Dimitri: Professor, how do I do that?  
> Byleth: Hold him. Closely. Don’t let him go. Take your clothes off too— Claude needs your body heat. Friction also makes heat.  
> Claude: T E A C H  
> Byleth: Dimitri, I think your clothes would look great on Claude’s floor.  
> Byleth: Claude, never be late to my class ever again.
> 
> Is Byleth pouncing on an excellent opportunity to embarrass Claude, or are they playing his wingman? Both. It’s both.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter is basically just Demi!Claude instaclicking with Dimitri as soon as Dimitri makes him feel safe. Poor guy’s got his first crush and he’s falling hard.
> 
> Fun fact: when I first envisioned this fic, I planned for a mild Claude/Mari, or maybe just another gen fic. I don't usually bother with shipping. But then this chapter happened, and Dimitri walked in, and he flipped a wyvern, and he carried Claude, and now Claude is smitten. I don’t make the rules, it’s just what happened. So now Disney Princess Claude has his Disney Prince. They’re wyvern-married now through wyvern-law, with a wyvern-child to boot. So long as they don’t get a wyvern-divorce, their bond is unbreakable. Nevermind the fact that no sovereign nation acknowledges wyvern-laws. The wyverns all know what’s up.


	4. "Rumor says that the Prince of Almyra has an 8-pack. That he's shredded."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some thinking(pining) about Dimitri (instead of doing anything productive) and some good good Cyril Loving Hour.

It was a nice break to not need to worry about Noodle for once. Dimitri was making good on his new ‘parental responsibilities’. Ever since the wyvern incident, Claude was seeing a lot of Dimitri. The prince made sure to stop by for at least an hour every day to check up on and say hello to Noodle (and check up on how Claude was doing too, he stated, but Claude was ignoring that for the sake of his sanity). Sometimes he even stayed for longer than an hour. Sometimes they got lunch together, or dinner together, or they studied together, or went to the library together, or just hung out in Claude's room together with Noodle and Butter and the kittens. Dimitri liked animals apparently, so of course they got together a lot.

On days like these, Dimitri even offered to take care of Noodle for him. Considering Noodle made most horses skittish, and the fact that Claude was on stable duty— well. Noodle hated it when he forced her into naptime and locked her in his room. Dimitri was a huge help, and this way Claude wouldn't return to a depressed baby wyvern.

Unfortunately, more exposure to Dimitri had yet to reduce his brainrot when it came to the prince. He’d been _hoping_ that by seeing Dimitri more often, he’d get used to the ~~cute~~ strange fascination that had taken root in his head. So far, no dice. At night he did nothing but dream about Dimitri. They hadn’t ~~cuddled~~ slept together since the first night ~~unfortunately.~~ Probably for the best. 

Worst of all, Claude was coming to realize he _really_ enjoyed Dimitri’s presence as a friend.

Dimitri was kind. Not just on a surface level, either. Apparently in his freetime he liked to teach orphans, of all the kind-hearted and cliche things. Dimitri wore his heart on his sleeve. As someone who didn’t even trust his best friend, he appreciated Dimitri’s frankness (and inability to lie well). There was much less guessing involved. More than that, Dimitri was so earnestly _genuine_ in his outstretched friendship to Claude. Either that, or Dimitri was the best actor he’d ever met.

Dimitri liked Claude. Maybe not in the same way Claude liked Dimitri (probably), but nonetheless: Dimitri liked Claude.

And then there was Dedue, who Claude was beginning to tangentially know. It was the way Dimitri treated Dedue— a man of Duscur— that really caught Claude’s eye. Dimitri didn’t hate or dislike Dedue for the place of his birth. Which really made no sense considering the Tragedy of Duscur, but that was just another thing Claude realized he was missing information on. Dimitri always spoke up in Dedue’s defense— and even in defense of Petra, once, when the two of them overheard a Black Eagle student gossiping about her. Claude wasn’t sure if Dimitri even knew Petra, but he still stepped in to berate the gossipers about judging people for where they were born.

There was _something_ about the Tragedy of Duscur that Claude was missing. Something about _Dimitri_ that _begged_ Claude to look deeper. He wasn’t about to ruin his new friendship by pushing too hard and too fast, though. By the looks of things, this friendship might very well last a long time. Claude would have plenty of opportunities to interrogate Dimitri. Subtily, of course. 

The real exciting part was learning about Dimitri’s opinions about foreign powers. Dimitri held strong opinions about Duscur, and his outlook was one that Claude was surprised to find himself mostly _agreeing_ with. He was more open to foreigners and the idea of outside countries than anyone else Claude knew in Fódlan. There were some issues, mostly born of ignorance and naivety, but Dimitri seemed _very_ receptive to some of the suggestions and (carefully worded) corrections that Claude threw out. That the next king of Faerghus was so willing to stretch out his hand in friendship to the outside nations around him… 

And the fact that Dimitri was now Claude’s _friend_ meant that Claude had a lot of influence over encouraging and swaying his foreign policies. 

He was actually somewhat suspicious. Dimitri was just too good to be true. Like he was perfectly tailored exactly to what Claude wanted. Claude came to the academy to foster alliances and understand his peers better, and here he was now chummy with the Prince of Faerghus. The fact that Dimitri was so open to a friendship was a lot on its own. Dimitri was kind and caring. Dimitri was open minded, more than anyone else Claude had met so far. ~~Dimitri was beautiful and strong and liked Claude.~~ Dimitri was _interesting,_ and was hiding some sort of mystery that just _begged_ Claude to keep biting.

Perfect people didn’t exist. Dimitri’s Perfect Prince mask was thorough, but Claude was determined to discover the cracks. There was something haunting him. An anger that Claude only caught glimpses of so far, an anger he theorized burned very, very hot. If he was right, it was a very dangerous fire to play with. But Claude had a lot of experience playing with fire. His questions wouldn’t be deterred by a little heat.

The _questions._ Claude was very curious by nature. But when it came to Dimitri, he was beginning to think he might be _too_ curious for the first time in his life. Every little thing about the prince sparked an unending stream of questions in his head, even the most mundane things. Like his gloves! Why did Dimitri constantly wear metal gauntlets? Was he worried about harming his princely hands? Was he hiding something? Scars? Tattoos? A birthmark? Were his hands weirdly sensitive, thus needing protection? Why? Or his _hair,_ why did Dimitri wear his hair the way he did? His bangs were ~~endearing and adorable~~ somewhat awkward. Dimitri had access to the best hairdressers in Faerghus. Maybe he didn’t trust just anyone cutting his hair? Claude could relate to that. Or maybe he liked it that way? Or— 

“Clauuude~” Hilda cooed at him. “Stop thinking about your handsome prince and help me out.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “I was thinking about a scheme, actually.”

“Pff. I’d be convinced, except you don’t go all ‘moony-eyed’ over _schemes._ Heads up, you’ve got some drool on your lips.”

The horse he was grooming gave him a whinny. He realized he had been brushing the same exact spot for who-knows how long.

“Ugh, why couldn’t I have been paired with Marianne…” Hilda moaned. “I _hate_ grooming pegasi by myself! There are just _so_ many feathers, it’s unfair.”

“Now who’s drooling?” Claude shook his head. He finished brushing down the horse. Glancing at the three horses he was in charge of, versus the five pegasi Hilda was responsible for, he (reluctantly) decided to be a responsible house leader and good friend. “Welp, since I’m not a slacker like you, the horses are done.” He knew what Hilda would say next.

She threw back her head and groaned. “No _fair!_ I’m not even done with my second one, and I have _waaay_ more to do! I hate this!” She turned to look at him, pouting. _Here it was…_ “Claude, since you’re done…” Claude knew what she was about to say. _‘Won’t you finish this for me? You’re so much faster than me…’_ Hilda was predictable like that. “You’re _so_ much faster and better at this than I am! I’m _awful_ at this, I don’t even know what I’m doing!”

“Mmhmm.”

“Can you do me a _huuuge_ favor? Since you aren’t busy.”

He cracked her a smile. “You’ll owe me one.”

She pouted at him. “C’mon, it’s not that big of a favor.”

He picked up a bottle of wing oil, heading towards one of the pegasi still in need of grooming. “Alright. Haven’t done this before, but I think I know the jist.” He reached out to pet the Pegasus’ snout.

He heard Hilda give a sharp inhale. “Claude, wait!”

He turned around, still patting the pegasus. “What?”

She made a motion with her neck, gritting her teeth. _“Stop touching it!”_

“Excuse me…?”

She flailed an arm. “Stop touching the pegasus!”

Frowning, he lowered his hand. “Okay…? Thought you wanted my help.” The pegasus gave a small noise, nosing at his hand.

“Idiot! Don’t you know pegasi hate men? I’m surprised she didn’t bite your hand off! I was _going_ to ask you to go find Marianne or Leonie to come help me out!”

He made a face. “Pegasi ‘hate men’? Why? How does that work? What, can they smell ‘manliness’ on people?” He rolled his eyes, huffing a laugh. “That sounds like superstition to me.” He gestured to the pegasus nuzzling his hand. “She seems to like me plenty.”

Hilda stared at him, giving him a long, slow blink. “You know what? It’s _your_ hand. Be my guest.”

He shook his head. “You’re exaggerating. Now tell me how to do the wings.”

“Okay, look, if she hasn’t bitten you yet, she’ll _definitely_ bite you if you touch her wings. Or kick you. Or both.”

He reached out and patted the pegasus’ wing. The feathers of her wing fluffed up at his touch. She went so far as to lean into his hand. “Oh no. My hand. Ow. I’m dying,” he deadpanned, petting her wing more. “The agony.”

Hilda sputtered. 

In his other hand, he wiggled the bottle of wing oil. “Well? I _could_ just leave you to do this yourself, you know.” Especially since he planned to get dinner with Dimitri and Noodle when he finished. Hilda better be grateful he didn't just abandon her.

She threw up her hands. “Why am I surprised. Only you, Claude. Only you.”

He didn’t know why Hilda complained so much. As soon as he got into the rhythm of zipping the feathers and general preening, he found the action soothing. The pegasus, despite Hilda’s superstition, was very affectionate. A real sweetheart. He made a mental note to come back at some point with an apple for her.

  
  


* * *

  
  


It was midnight. Claude was tired. Tomas kicked him out of the library, and now he was making his walk of shame back to the dorms. Even Noodle was tired, dead to the world around his neck. She might as well be a weird-looking necklace for how passed out she was. Claude was envious. He was exhausted. 

“Khalid?”

Strike that. Claude _had been_ tired. Now he was very, very wired.

He palmed the blade tucked in his jacket. Maybe he misheard something.

“Hey, Khalid, get over here!”

The voice was a hushed whisper, barely loud enough to carry past the rosebush. Taking a deep breath, Claude turned the corner and met the wide eyes of Cyril. The smaller boy jumped as he rounded the bush, dropping his broom. _Cyril._ Damn, of course. Of course the Almyran boy would recognize him. There weren’t exactly many green-eyed people with his skin color after all.

“A bit late for you to be out, isn’t it?”

Cyril frowned at him, picking up the broom he dropped. “Nah. It’s a lot easier to clean the rose garden when no one’s around. Shouldn't _you_ be in bed?”

He shrugged. “Nah.”

Cyril rolled his eyes. “Just don’t bother me, got it? I gotta—” he yawned— “get this finished soon.”

Claude narrowed his eyes. “Right… look, Cyril, I think we need to have a chat.” He didn’t miss the way Cyril went rigid, white-knuckling his broom. Claude grinned, though he doubted Cyril could see it well in the dim moonlight. “Whoa, easy. You look like you’re getting ready to run away.”

“Um.” Cyril was _definitely_ prepared to run. “No I’m not. I don’t wanna talk to you. I’ve got work to do, okay? Just, leave me alone.”

“Yeesh. Think about who you’re talking to here.”

Cyril took a small step back. “Uh-huh. And why can’t ya talk to me in the daylight, huh? Look, Lady Rhea says it’s okay for me to live here. Just ‘cause you’re a noble doesn’t mean I gotta listen—”

“Hold up, I think we’re on different pages. I don’t care that you live here. You do you. Are people giving you trouble about that? Who am I kidding, of course they are…”

“I can take care of myself!”

Claude rubbed his tired eyes, sighing. This conversation wasn’t going how he planned. Not that he planned it in the first place. “Look, Cyril. I can’t have you going around and telling the world who I am.”

“Um… but, doesn’t everyone know…?”

Claude grinned with teeth. It wasn’t a very nice smile. “What’s my name, Cyril?”

“You’re Claude von Riegan.” _Good._ Maybe this kid had _some_ sense. “Even I know that. And— Khalid!”

Claude nearly jumped out of his skin at Cyril’s sudden shout. “Quiet!” He harshly whispered.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to shout.” He glanced down at his feet. “Not now Khalid!” Following Cyril’s eyes, he saw a cat twining around the boy’s legs.

“… What?”

Cyril huffed, keeping a wary eye on Claude. He bent down to pet the cat, never breaking eye contact. “Khalid’s a good name. What of it?”

_Well, I won’t disagree…_ “You… named the cat? That’s an Almyran name, isn’t it? Is that, ah, a common cat name?” It wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t.

“I mean, it’s a common name.”

Well… Cyril wasn’t wrong… “Riiight. Have a good night, Cyril.”

“Alright… Night, Claude.” A few moments later, when Cyril must have assumed Claude was out of earshot, he mumbled “What a weirdo.”

  
  


* * *

  
  


The very next day, Teach inducted Cyril into the Golden Deer for a few classes a week. Claude considered this a good thing. Cyril was already indirectly confronting Hilda on some of her poor opinions in ways Claude would never be able to— though time would only tell if she disappointed him or not. Beyond that, he was happy that Cyril was getting something of an education now. The boy was even making slow friends with Lysithea, Ignatz, and Raphael (rather, he was friends with the former and tolerating the latter two). Those three seemed earnest in their desire for friendship with Cyril, much to Claude’s pleasant surprise.

It was heartwarming to watch Cyril warm up to the class, and in turn the class to him. Claude was only forced to poison a handful of people for bullying Cyril, and none of them were in the Golden Deer. Within a week, Cyril went from being wary of them all, to being able to relax around them. Claude particularly noted that Cyril seemed to feel safe around both Lysithea and Raphael (going so far as to hide behind Raphael, at one point).

Lorenz was still a pretentious ass and said some rude and insensitive things, but it was born out of ignorance rather than maliciousness as far as Claude could see. He hadn’t poisoned Lorenz (yet) for talking down to Cyril. Cyril was proving to be surprisingly (and hilariously) able to stand up for himself against Lorenz. Leonie was having a _blast_ joining in and knocking Lorenz down a few pegs when the opportunity arose.

Hilda was… Hilda. She tried to talk his ear off a few times about how she just _‘doesn’t understand why Cyril doesn’t like my compliments,’_ or how he’s _‘not so bad, for an Almyran. Not brutish or lazy at all,’_ or that sort of thing. Claude was doing his best to explain without giving his own origins away. It wasn’t easy, and was frankly exhausting. Still, it was good. Hilda was learning, somewhat. The room for growth was there. The way Cyril tensed when he was alone around Hilda was hard to watch, though.

Cyril’s presence was a huge positive in Claude’s books. Not including Hilda and Lorenz, Cyril was becoming something of the darling of the Golden Deer. The class more or less adopted him as their communal little brother within a week, much to Cyril’s confusion, frustration, and embarrassment. Poor kid was still figuring out what it meant to have friends.

Cyril by proxy introduced the Golden Deer to the idea that Almyrans were people, just the same as they were. Though it was on a small scale, it gave Claude hope that his pipe dream might have a shot, no matter how slim.

The downside… 

“Ah! Khalid! Not now!”

That _damned_ cat followed Cyril nonstop.

“Come on Khalid, you’re not allowed in the dining hall…”

“Heh, the Almyran longhair follows the Almyran around. That’s pretty funny, huh?” Hilda commented, leaning over her plate to nudge him in the ribs. “I’m surprised that cat isn’t following _you_ around.”

He grinned, despite internally wanting to tear his hair out. What the hell did _that_ mean?? Was she on to him? Did she know he was Almyran too?? There was _no way_ she knew his name.

“Fine, just a little bit… Here you go, Khalid.” Cyril tore off a bit of his meal and gave it to the cat. To _Khalid the cat._

He took a bite of his own dinner. How long before he slipped up? How long before Cyril called for his cat and _Claude_ replied?

“Is that an Almyran name?” Ignatz asked. “What’s it mean?”

“It’s just a name, I dunno what it means. What’s _Ignatz_ mean, anyways?”

“So Calid is a person-name?” Leonie asked. That was the other grating thing— no one pronounced his name right. He bit back on the response to correct her.

“It’s a pretty common name, yeah.”

Ignatz petted the cat. “Did you name him that because you miss Almyra?”

Cyril huffed a frustrated sigh. “For the last time, I _don’t_ miss Almyra! How many times do I gotta say that? Khalid’s name is sorta like a joke, I guess. Here, take a look at this.” Cyril brushed some of the fur away from the cat’s side, revealing a long, scarred bald spot. “He follows me around ‘cause I patched him up. He had a big gash in his side. Didn’t really think he’d survive, you know? When he did, I named him Khalid, after the Prince of Almyra.” _Shit._ “He’s well known for being flat out unkillable. I heard he got stabbed in the gut once and walked it off.” Claude’s scar twinged. “There’s a ton of stories about him surviving impossible stuff, though I dunno how many of them are true.”

“Whoa, really? That’s scary!” Hilda cried. “How can someone walk off a stab wound? Aw, and he’s gonna be the next king of Almyra?” She shuddered. “No fair! I don’t want my big brother to have to deal with _that_ at the border!”

Cyril eyed Hilda warily. “Nah. Just cause he’s the king’s son doesn’t mean he’ll inherit Almyra. It works differently than here. Besides, he’s probably dead by now unless he really _is_ unkillable. No one wants the Demon-Prince to be the next king, so a lotta people try to kill him. His luck probably ran out by now.”

“Demon prince?” Ignatz murmured. “What’d he do to deserve that title?”

“Aside from being unnatural? Well, there’s—”

“Does being ‘hard to kill’ really make someone deserve to be called a demon?” Claude interrupted, well aware that Cyril could _not_ be allowed to say the _‘Demon-Prince of Almyra is half Fódlandi.’_ He tapped his chin, refusing to show any outward unease. “Or does this guy have, like, demonic fangs or something?” Claude brought his fingers up to his mouth to mime fangs.

“Just his eyes,” Cyril replied. Claude blinked, surprised. “I hear the prince has inhuman eyes like a snake. They’re an unnatural color. Some people say the Demon-Prince’s glare alone can poison or paralyse you. They say his whole body’s poisonous. His blood, his tears— even a touch from him can kill ya.” He shrugged. “So they say. Not like I’ve ever seen the guy. He might not even be real for all I know.”

Claude snorted. “The mythos of this guy doesn’t exactly sound realistic, I’ll give you that.” Who knew he had such a infamous reputation? Well, he did, sort of. “You sure you didn’t make this fella up?”

“What sort of color is ‘unnatural’?” Lysithea asked, looking thoughtful. “I’ve seen people with just about every eye color… Are his eyes prismic? Fully black? Rainbow? Or perhaps dual colored?”

“Um, I dunno what pris-mac means, but I don’t think so.” Cyril hummed. “In Almyra, people aren’t as colorful as in Fódlan. Most eye colors are brown, orange, red, or gold.” He gestured around the table. “Only Leonie and Raphael would fit in with eye color, though your hair and skin color would give you away. And I guess if you’re by the border, some people got pink eyes too.”

“Wow,” Hilda leaned forward on her chin, “Almyrans are so dull.”

“Hilda! Don’t say that!” Ignatz admonished her. “That’s rude!”

“I’m just saying! Like, that’s a sea of dirty browns. All warm colors, no variety to break it all up.”

“So he’s got some weird eyes, a lot of nasty rumors, and is tough.” Leonie tapped her chin. “I mean, Almyrans have a reputation for being pretty hardy anyways. I’ve been stabbed before. I didn’t exactly walk it off, sure, but it wasn’t some supernatural feat to survive it.”

Cyril waved a hand. “The Prince was five at the time. I think that’s what usually tips people over into being uncomfortable.” _He was seven at the time, actually._

Sure enough, the table went silent. “Yeesh… who stabs a five-year-old? That’s messed up.”

Hilda sputtered. “What kind of five-year-old _walks off being stabbed?!_ Yeah, sounds like this guy earned his reputation! Dear _Goddess,_ I hope that guy is dead! Bet he’s a little psychopath!”

_Thanks Hilda. Love you too._ Claude waffled a hand. “I don’t know, I’m still not convinced this guy is real. Kinda cliche, don’t you think?”

Hilda leaned under the table to pet at the cat that dutifully sat by Cyril’s legs. “Aww, poor kitty. Did Cyril name you after a scary demon? That’s not very nice of him, is it! You need a better name, don’t you… Not some icky Almyran name… ”

“Hey!” Cyril took offense to that. Claude did too, not that he could show it. “Khalid’s a good name! You think so, don’t you Khalid?”

Claude opened his mouth to respond by instinct. He jammed a forkful of food in his mouth instead, barely catching himself. Khalid _the cat_ replied to Cyril, ignoring Hilda and rubbing himself all over Cyril’s leg, purring loud enough to be heard across the table.

“See! Khalid likes his name!” Cyril puffed up, looking proud. “Besides, there’s a lot of Khalids out there. It’s a common name, not unique to the prince.”

“I think Cat-leed is a great name,” Lysithea asserted. Claude was tempted to tease her that she only liked the name because Cyril picked it out and _‘ooo, some~one has a crush~!’_ Cyril beamed at her.

For once, he refrained from teasing. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: Poor Cyril, he's never had a friend and he's so confused by people being nice to him  
> Hilda/Dimitri/GD: Hey Claude we're friends with you now! :D  
> Claude: ????????? Sounds fake????
> 
> Cyril: Yeh rumor says Prince Khalid poisons people  
> Claude: *Poisons everyone that so much as looks at Cyril wrong*  
> Claude: Huh who would do that.
> 
> Listen y'all, Cyril deserves the world. The least I can do is give him a bcf (best cat friend) and half a dozen older siblings (+Lysithea). He (and Khalid-the-cat) will show up plenty in the future (and drive Claude's paranoia up the wall) ;3  
> Things Cyril doesn't know: literally anything factual about 'Prince Khalid', such as being half-Fodlandi.  
> Things that Claude will agonize over: Making sure Cyril doesn't tell people that 'Prince Khalid' is half-Fodlandi.  
> Things Cyril *does* know about 'Prince Khalid': Tall tales told by bored border-guards, all of which are heavily embellished and some of which are 99% made up.
> 
> I love Hilda. But she needs to drink some Respect-Other-Cultures juice (Claude will make sure she does, don't worry). 
> 
> Next chapter: two eagles are involved.


	5. Annoying two Eagles with one Claude

Claude put the finishing touches on his ‘disguise’. It wasn’t anything remarkable— just enough that he couldn’t be recognized from a distance. His braid was tucked behind his ear and underneath his headscarf. He wore linen-spun clothes that weren’t too poor but weren’t too rich, clothed in earthen tones of brown and muddy greens. Plain enough to blend in and plain enough to not get mugged. He tucked his chin low, hiding the bottom half of his face into his scarf. A hooded cloak would have hidden his features better, but hooded figures drew attention.

He slipped into the marketplace, altering the rhythm of his strides. The markets would close within an hour. Dinner was soon. If Claude timed it just right, he’d get back right in the middle of dinner rush— a perfect time for him and his supplies to slip back into his room unnoticed. He passed through the marketplace and left the gates of the monastery. Though it would be easier to hide if he did this at night, he’d be breaking curfew. What he was currently doing technically broke no rules, so he felt no need to add breaking curfew for something so trivial. Not that he had any issues breaking rules in general.

The town outside of Garreg Mach wasn’t far, thankfully. He made it to the town just in time to see the beginnings of sunset. With favorable fortune he’d have his spoils and be well on his way back before it finished setting. 

He wasted no time ducking into the seedier part of the town. His supplier wouldn’t be expecting him today, as Claude despised being predictable, but he knew his order would be ready. It always was.

Something caught Claude’s eye. Skulking in the shadows was a hooded figure. The man (for it was clearly a man) wore dark black. A terrible mistake, in Claude’s opinion. Dark black stood out against the evening’s shadows— it was much better to go for a dark blue, grey, or brown. Even in the depths of night black could stand out unless it was a moonless night. Considering the sun had yet to even set, the black was like a beacon. The man walked with a slight hunch to his shoulders— a faked hunch, not one born of disability. The fact that the man was hooded at all was a tell in itself. 

Claude watched the man for a spell, delaying his own journey. There was something familiar about the way the man walked. Claude was certain he knew the man. Someone from the monastery, or someone from Deirdru? It would make much, much more sense that it was someone from the monastery, but he didn’t fully count out Deirdru. 

The man was tall. Very tall. Broad but not muscular. Very lanky. Too lanky to be Dimitri (the walk was wrong as well). _Far_ too lanky to be Raphael or Dedue (the walk was even more wrong). Could be Lorenz. Lorenz was definitely the type of overconfident idiot to make all the flashy mistakes Claude had already seen. But the figure was too comfortable in the shadows to be Lorenz. That left… Sylvain or— 

Oh that was _definitely_ Hubert.

Hidden behind his scarf, Claude grinned. Whatever could Hubert be up to? Claude had to give the man credit, he wore the shadows like a cloak. A somewhat garish cloak, sure, but a comfortable cloak nonetheless. His steps were silent— another thing that gave him away to Claude’s eye. Movement made sound, and when it didn’t that was suspicious.

Hubert turned down an alleyway. Claude took half a second to ponder whether he would follow the man— he wasn’t sure why he wasted half a second. Of _course_ he was following Hubert! His curiosity demanded it.

He meandered over to the alley. Glancing down it, Hubert was already out of sight. Claude smirked to himself. He recognized this alleyway. There was next to nothing down it. He very much doubted Hubert needed to visit the street-sweeper or vermin catcher. Which meant Hubert had noticed Claude noticing him.

Claude palmed the dagger by his side. Hubert _probably_ wouldn’t kill him (that’d be awkward if he tried, even _more_ awkward if he succeeded), but it didn’t hurt to be prepared. He walked into the alleyway.

He saw Hubert just in time. Ducking and sidestepping, he had to give Hubert credit— the man was fast. 

Claude raised one hand. “Whoa now, no need for that, sir…”

Hubert paused. Claude could see just a hint of his defined cheekbones from under the hood. “My, my… who do we have here? Following me?”

“Just a concerned citizen,” Claude murmured, muffling his voice under his scarf. “Can’t fault a fella for bein’ vigilant, yeah?”

Hubert’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t relax, but he didn’t tense further either. His stance shifted, leaning back on his heels. “Von Riegan.”

Claude lifted his chin to reveal his smirk, seeing no reason to hide. “Vestra. Funny seeing you ‘round these parts. What a coincidence! Wouldn’t it be hilarious if we just so happened to be going to the same place?” Claude winked.

“You followed me.”

“Did I? Aww, Hubie, do you think I got all gussied up just for you? This took me a decent chunk of time to put together, you know!” Claude gestured to his outfit. “I don’t mean to break your heart, but I’d have to know your schedule ahead of time to know you were leaving the monastery. Must be chance that we ran into each other. Fate, perhaps!” He winked again. Hubert didn’t strike Claude as the sort of man that believed in silly things like _fate,_ _coincidence,_ or _happenstance._

He watched Hubert’s jaw clench. Antagonizing people was a great way to get information _and_ entertainment. “Do not call me that.”

“Sure thing, Huuuubie. Don’t let me keep you from your daily duties.” Claude fluttered his eyelashes. “You can just pretend I’m not here.”

“Follow me further and no one will find your body.”

Claude mock gasped. “Threats? For lil’ ol’ me? Not very diplomatic of you, but I’m flattered! And here I told the Golden Deer the two of us were going for a simple shopping trip! What would everyone think if I went missing? Poor Edelgard would be heartbroken to hear such accusations directed at her retainer, don’t you think?”

“And what shall they think should you return alone, hm?”

Claude clasped a hand over his heart. “Alas, it would seem my attempts at extending the hand of friendship failed. Oooh, my poor broken heart…”

Hubert was silent for a moment, crossing his arms behind his back. “You would do well to be on your way. I wouldn’t _dare_ waste the time of such a _valuable_ person. We are both very busy, and I have no time for your tomfoolery.”

Claude snickered. “Tell you what. You can follow me, but only if I can follow you first.”

Hubert gave him a flat look. “A shame, it seems I forgot my gold pouch at the dorms. Late hour it is, it seems I am forced to do my shopping another time.”

“You can borrow some from me! No strings attached! C’mon, what are friends for?”

“I couldn’t possibly,” Hubert droned. “I wouldn’t dare stretch your budget so thin. I know those of the Alliance are forced to be frugal with their funds, what with so many inner-squabbles.”

“Oh, nice joke! Zing! Good job buddy, you’ll develop a sense of humor one of these days. Would’ve been a lot more effective if you got your facts straight, considering the Alliance has the biggest coffers in Fódlan. But don’t worry, I know jokes are hard. Maybe you should try knock-knock jokes instead. Gotta work your way up.”

Hubert just stood, staring. Glaring, really.

Claude leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “I can wait _all_ night, y’know.” He _could,_ but he’d really rather not. His supplier would be closing up shop soon, and slipping back into Garreg Mach would be twice as hard with a full pack. Hubert didn’t need to know that though. “Ooh, we could do something fun! Hang out! Go to a bar! Get our hair done! Or stare deeply into each other’s eyes in this random alley, bonding silently.”

“You chatter far too much,” Hubert hissed. 

“Personally, I’d say I don’t chatter enough.” Claude winked. “I can feel us bonding. Do you feel it, Hubie? We’ll be best friends in no time.”

“Someday,” Hubert sighed, voice wistful, “you will be dead.”

“Well, you’re not wrong.”

“The more you chatter, the sooner that day will come.”

“That’s not how that works. Trust me, I’d be dead by now if that was the case.”

“You are shrouded in mystery, von Riegan. How you have not chattered your way into another man’s dagger is another mystery to add to you. I am leaving.”

“Funny coincidence, so am I! Weird how that works, huh.”

“I am going to a bar. And I will drink until I drown out your incessant chattering.”

“Ooh, hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the last man that told me that complained I only got louder the more he drank.”

Just as Claude assumed, Hubert did _not_ go to a bar. He left town. Claude waved him goodbye before taking a gamble. He followed Hubert from a distance, staying out of sight. He knew Hubert likely assumed he was following, but he didn’t want to take the chance that Hubert would double back into the town. He made sure to step on a branch at one point, softly cursing just loud enough to be heard. Sure enough, by the halfway point, it was clear that Hubert _knew_ Claude was following him. But Hubert couldn’t see him and couldn’t hear him aside from that purposeful stumble. Claude let Hubert go on ahead before doubling back himself. Night was falling and his window for curfew would be cutting it short.

He was _mostly_ sure Hubert wasn’t following him, but Claude was a smarter man than to assume for certain he wasn’t being followed. Not that it mattered much, the stakes were honestly rather low.

“I’m here for my usual!” Claude called as he entered the shop.

The old man at the counter grumbled. Yada yada, fickle brat, yada yada, mud-skinned bastard, the usual grumbles. He wondered if the old shop owner would change his tune if he knew he was insulting a noble. Claude paid the man and received his goods. Heaving the supplies into his pack, he waved goodbye to the old man, promising to be back someday. The man grouched back, but Claude was starting to think he was just like that.

It would be nice if he could get this sort of thing at the marketplace in the monastery. Usually, most people went with more ‘fresh’ options. Unfortunately for Claude, the fresh stuff went bad fast, and it wasn’t something he could easily store in his dorm.

Realistically, he didn’t need to sneak so much anymore. All of the Golden Deer knew his secret. But he had no plans to allow the rest of the monastery in on it. If people knew he frequented the shop that he did— a _very_ specific shop dealing in _very_ specific goods— there would be questions. People would start to wonder why Claude needed to visit _that_ kind of store. It was safer to never be recognized going in and out.

He _did_ make it back before curfew, but he also knew Hubert might be waiting for him at the gate. Beyond that, he missed the sweet-spot of everyone being at dinner. He considered his options. He could leave his pack outside, hidden, and come back for it in the morning. Not a great option, considering animals might get into it. He could sneak in past the guards. He didn’t like that option either. Getting caught sneaking back in would make him look _very_ suspicious.

Or he could just stroll through the gate. After all, Hubert would probably assume Claude had some scheme to avoid him. Hubert had to know Claude knew Hubert would be waiting for him. Thus, it wouldn’t be logical for Claude to stroll back through the gate, not when Hubert assumed Claude assumed Hubert would be waiting for him. If Claude was Hubert, who was trying to catch Claude, he wouldn’t wait at the gate. Because Claude knew that Hubert knew that Claude was tricky. He _had_ to assume Claude had a backdoor into the monastery.

Unless, of course, Hubert assumed Claude assumed Hubert would assume that Claude would assume that Hubert wouldn’t be at the gate. In that case, he may very well be at the gate. But if Claude was Hubert, those wouldn’t be odds he’d gamble on (Hubert did not strike Claude as the sort to gamble at all). No, Hubert would want a _sure_ way to catch Claude.

Which meant he would either a) wait somewhere he _knew_ Claude would pass, or b) wait in Claude’s room. He hoped Hubert wasn’t in his room. It would be awkward to explain to Edelgard why her retainer was found dead in his room, especially when he didn’t have a rock-solid alibi… Which would mean wasting an antidote on Hubert. Ugh.

Claude smirked. He strolled through the gate, no Hubert in sight. _Maybe_ he was hidden somewhere, but Claude doubted it. No, he knew where Hubert would be.

Claude knocked on Raphael’s door. The door opened, which was good. He could have gone to Ignatz or Leonie, but Raphael seemed the least likely to go snooping.

“Hey there, Raph! Can you help me out with something? Won’t take any of your time.”

Raphael squinted at him for a moment. “Oh! Claude, I didn’t recognize you!”

Claude winked. “Mind if I store my bag here for the night? I’ll come back for it in the morning.”

“Sure! No problem!”

“You’re the best. And hey, if anyone asks, you didn’t see me tonight.”

“I… didn’t?” Raphael squinted at him, as if confirming that he could, in fact, see Claude.

Claude winked again, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’m working on a surprise gift, so don’t tell anyone,” he lied.

“OH! No worries, I’ll be quiet!” he shouted.

Claude waved Raphael goodbye and goodnight, holding back a smirk. If he was right… 

Heading up the stairs, and… yep. Like a gargoyle, Hubert stood in front of his own door, one that was before Claude’s. Thus, Claude had to pass him. _Predictable._

“Von Riegan. My, you’re out late.”

“Heya Hubie!” Claude gave a long stretch. “Perfect weather for a walk, huh? Yawn, I am beat! What a day.”

“Lose something? Your shoulders look rather light.”

Claude let his eye twitch, pausing for juuust the right amount of time. Just long enough to make Hubert think Claude was upset that Hubert noticed his missing pack. “My shoulders, huh? I’d say my shoulders always look light compared to yours. Has anyone ever told you that you’re stiff as a board? Seriously, you should get out and do something _fun_ one of these days.” He winked. “I can teach you plenty, y’know. All you need to do is ask. I’m a lot more fun than Edelgard.”

“Of that I have my doubts. Whatever _‘fun’_ you may offer would no doubt be a waste of time at best. Lady Edelgard is your superior in every manner, aside from foolishness and annoyance. On those accounts you far surpass her.” Hubert just gave him a smile. Perhaps he was imagining all the ways he could kill Claude. Or maybe he was thinking about kittens and his face just wasn’t good at smiling. “You are a lone animal of prey in a field of predators. Do not forget this.”

Claude splayed his hands before him. “Aww, more threats! Is that how you show affection? I’m honored. It’s okay, you can confide in your good pal Claude. Edelgard is _such_ a stick in the mud, hm?”

“I look forward to the day you take your Grandfather’s place. The Empire will reap the benefits of your poor leadership.” Hubert’s grin took on a devilish edge. “I find it ironic that the future head of a round table of 'allied' territories has no allies of his own. No retainer, no followers, no one loyal to you.” He chuckled. “Enjoy your false sense of safety while it lasts, von Riegan. The skeletons you keep in your closet will not remain a secret forever.”

“Who keeps a skeleton in their _closet_ , anyways? Pretty sure you’re supposed to bury those. Closets are an awful place to hide things. Just a tip. But at least now I know where to check for your skeletons.”

“You underestimate me if you think I would make such an amature mistake. You think yourself a sleuth, but in truth you are naught but a sniveling mouse nosing into a snare.”

“What can I say? I can’t resist a good chunk of cheese. Better keep your closet locked, Hubie!” He winked again. “Not that a simple lock will ever stop me. Anyways, I’ve got a pressing study session with my bed. We should hang out more often!”

Hubert just glared at him.

Claude waved a hand. “Welp, night!”

He closed his door behind him, listening. After a few minutes hearing nothing from the hall (and ignoring some demanding squeals from inside), he let the tension leave his shoulders. Then he grinned like a madman. It was _hilarious._ Hubert thought a) Claude followed him, b) Claude _knew his schedule_ well enough to _plan_ around it, and c) Claude went into town to _drop something off,_ not pick something up. Sparking the man’s paranoia was _highly_ entertaining. Even better, now he knew Hubert was doing something that he didn’t want anyone to know about. He _had_ to figure out what that man planned to do in town. His curiosity demanded nothing less. And his survival instinct. 

Claws finally managed to cut past his pants and into his skin. Claude bent down to smother the kitties with pets. Surprisingly, the trio weren’t satisfied with being pet for once. He glanced at their empty food bowl. And their empty food supply. He winced as Noodle clambered onto his back, her claws much sharper than the kittens. 

“Hungry, huh…” His new supply of dried cat food and preserved wyvern chow was currently stored in Raphael’s room. “You guys can wait till morning.”

Sun braced her front paws on his knee, standing up on two legs to get as close to his face as possible, and began wailing.

“Your complaint has been noted.” _And ignored._

Noodle nipped at his ear, whining and giving him the Big Sad Eyes™. _Damn._ He hated the Big Sad Eyes™.

“You can _all_ wait. Stop acting so spoiled.”

Moon shuffled away from him, her head and tail drooping. His eyes narrowed as he noticed she was walking with a limp. She’d been fine a few moments ago, no limp at all when she raced up to him. She paused, turning to look at him out of the corner of her eye. _To make sure he was watching her!_ The little brat! She limped into the corner of his room, flopping onto the floor like she had no energy left in her to do anything else. She gave a tiny cry, looking at him.

“Look, I don’t have any food.”

Moon turned away from him completely. She crawled further away, tucking herself into a pathetic ball of fur, her back to him. A few moments later she gave a small squeak. A few moments after that, she glanced at him again before turning away.

“Congratulations Moon, you’ve beaten both Hilda and Lorenz for the title of Drama Queen.”

He took off his ‘peasant’ clothes and slipped into his nightwear. The process was made difficult by a very whiny and sad Noodle at his back and two whiny and sad kittens at his legs (and at one point, _on_ his legs).

“I fed you a few hours ago!” He flopped back onto his bed, reaching down under the bed for Vish. “Why can’t everyone be more like you.” She flicked her tongue out at him. “Exactly. See, you understand me.”

Claude might have gotten one up on Hubert, but he wasn’t sure the victory was worth it in the end. He stared up at his ceiling. Noodle switched between nibbling at his hair, licking his face, and sighing like a three-time widowed duchess. He couldn’t sleep. He tried to read, but neither Noodle nor the kittens allowed him that either. He would shove one creature off his book, only for another to take the place of the first. Two torn pages later and he gave up.

“If you weren’t ganging up on _me,_ I’d be proud of your teamwork.”

Sun just wailed. Star chomped down on his arm. Moon was still in her corner of the room, sulking. Noodle whined _right_ in his ear. At least Vish was content to nap around his ankle.

Needless to say, he got no sleep.

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


With only the smallest amount of guilt, Claude carefully cupped the mouse in his palms. Like always, the mouse didn’t fight. 

“Sorry little guy,” he murmured, “but you picked the wrong person to trust.”

He appreciated how easy it was but never could quite stifle the thrum of guilt. He tried to tell himself it was the mouse’s fault for trusting him, but the little thing didn’t know any better. Still, if he had to choose between feeling a little guilty or letting Vishkanya starve, he’d choose guilt every time.

“Plump lil guy, aren’t’cha.” The little mouse had already made itself comfortable in his cupped palms. He sighed, heading back towards his room. If he was lucky, he could drop off Vish’s dinner and make it back to the dining hall before Raphael ate everything.

“Claude?” Edelgard turned to face him, raising a single prim eyebrow. “I’m surprised you aren’t busy stuffing your face.”

He cocked a grin. What rotten fortune. “Well well, if it isn’t the princess! I’m surprised to see you too. You know, I heard that the dining hall is almost out of sweet buns. Did you eat them all? You’re looking a bit” —he gestured to her stomach with his still-cupped hands— “plump, is all.”

Edelgard rolled her eyes. “Do I want to know what scheme you’re up to now?”

“Of course you don’t. That would ruin the surprise!”

She pinched her brow. “Claude, what are you holding in your hands?”

“Now that would be telling.”

“Your behaviour is unbecoming. Perhaps if you were more serious, you might make a halfway decent ruler in the future.” She crossed her arms, blocking the hallway. “The last time I let you do as you pleased, Caspar’s hair was dyed purple. Now, let me see your hands.”

“Caspar’s hair was dyed purple? Wow, can’t believe I missed that. That sounds hilarious!” It had been.

“Claude.”

“Fine, fine. If you _must_ know, I’m not doing anything devious. Not that I _ever_ do anything devious. Not that anyone can prove.”

“Likely story.”

“If you really want to know…” He stretched out his cupped hands. “I was just making a new friend. Want to meet them?”

Edelgard’s face twisted. “Excuse me?”

“Adorable little guy, huh?” He revealed the little mouse. He expected Edelgard to roll her eyes, or make a disgusted face, or _maybe_ agree that the little mouse was cute. 

He did not expect her face to go as white as her hair. He did not expect her to shriek in terror (not a yelp, not a shout, but a _shriek)._ He did not expect her to blindly shoot back, panic plain in her movements as she threw open her door and fled behind it.

So caught off guard, he dropped the mouse. The little thing squealed as he dropped it, darting away.

He stared at her door, dumbstruck.

He glanced down at his feet, mentally cursing as he realized his mouse was gone. As much as he loved pranking people, he wasn’t the sort to enjoy terrorizing them. He mentally crossed off the potential of using mice on Edelgard. He had lines he wouldn’t cross. Unless it was a last resort.

After dithering in the hall for a few moments, he lightly knocked on Edelgard’s door. “Hey, Princess, you okay…?”

“Leave me be!”

“Right… I apologize. I mean, you _were_ the one that forced me to show you the mouse, mind you, but— Wait, that’s a terrible apology. Look, I’m sorry.”

“Just— just take that, that _thing—_ just get rid of it!”

“Right, right… I dropped it actually, so—”

He heard a sharp gasp from the other side of the door. “You dropped it?! W-where is it now?”

He bit his lip. He felt no enjoyment out of hearing his usually unflappable peer grapple with panic. “Gimme a second and I’ll find it. I’ll let you know when it’s gone, alright?”

“Just leave!”

It took him five whole minutes to find the mouse. Thankfully, despite dropping it, it still trusted him enough to show itself after he spent forever quietly making a fool of himself by calling to it. With the mouse carefully tucked in his hand, he knocked on Edelgard’s door again.

“Uh, it’s me. Don’t open your door, but I found the mouse. So you’re safe to leave in a minute or two. Hey, do you like cats?”

For a moment, he thought she was going to ignore him. “Why should I trust you? When I open this door, you’re just going to show me it again.” Her voice still quivered. She _really_ did not like mice, apparently.

“Yeesh, I’m not that cruel. Yes or no, do you like cats? Or are you more of a dog person?”

“Is this some sort of interrogation, Claude?”

“No, Gods, I’m trying to be _nice_ for once. I know you’re not familiar with the concept. Cats? Dogs? Uh, birds? C’mon, everyone likes _some_ animal, yeah?”

“... Cats are nice. Satisfied?”

“Sure am! Thanks, your Princessness! Just sit tight.”

He headed back to his own room. He set the small mouse down under his bed, knowing Vish would take care of the little thing in no time. He pulled Noodle away from sniffing the terrified mouse, then turned his attention to the three little freeloaders in his room.

He planted his hands on his hips. “Alright you three, I’ve got an important mission for you tonight. Failure is not an option. Infiltrate the Empire and make sure Edelgard doesn’t kill me in the morning. Understood?”

The three kittens squealed at him, clawing at his pants.

He spared them a smile, scooping them up in his arms. “You guys are getting heavy. Don’t grow up too fast, got it?”

Sun replied by batting at his braid. He spared a few moments to press his head to theirs.

He peeked his head out into the hallway, relieved to see no one else around. Juggling the kittens, he headed back to Edelgard’s room.

He lightly tapped her door with his boot. “Hey, open up. Seriously, I promise you won’t regret it.”

“Did I not tell you to go away?”

“You did, and I _did_ go away. And now I’m back. You never said I couldn’t come back. Gotta be specific.” One of the kittens nearly squirmed out of his hands. He hissed, nearly dropping the other two as he repositioned them. “Look, I _am_ sorry for scaring you— even if it totally wasn’t my fault— but saying sorry isn’t much of an apology. You’re the sort to appreciate actions more than words, right Princess? So open the door, forgive me, and don’t murder in the morning. Deal?”

He heard a long sigh. “You will continue to pester me until I open my door, won’t you.”

“Absolutely.”

“If I regret this, no one will find your body, Riegan.”

“Ooh, threats! That sounds like the Edelgard I know!”

Her door peeked open the smallest crack. Claude toed open the door a bit further.

“Here you go! Three anti-nightmare bundles of fluff.” She stared at the kittens squirming in his arms, her mouth falling open. After taking a moment to savor her shock, he plopped the kittens onto her floor. He pointed to them one by one. “That one’s Sun, that one’s Moon, and that one’s Star. Hey, Star’s a Hresvelgion Whisker, you know. A fated match! Anyways, they’re a bit energetic right now, but they’ll tucker out real quick.”

Edelgard gaped at the kittens. Star sniffed at her feet. Sun and Moon wasted no time investigating her room like the good little spies they were. He was so proud. _They grow up so fast._ If only he could communicate with them, they’d be _perfect_ infiltrators.

“I’m letting you borrow them for the night. Generous, I know, no need to thank me. I’ll be back for them in the morning.” He grinned, winking. “If I find a single hair harmed on their tiny, fuzzy little heads, your bowels will never forgive you for the rest of the school year. But you’d have to be a real monster to do that.”

Edelgard slowly looked back up at him. “They’re… kittens?”

“Wow, are you feeling alright? They’re giant rats.” She flinched, and he in turn winced. “Kidding, kidding, they’re _obviously_ kittens. Ever seen one before? They’re all over the monastery. You _do_ go outside right? You should get more sunlight.”

“Of course I’ve seen kittens before.”

“Then why the shock?”

Star pawed at Edelgard’s stockings, going on two legs to beg. She bit her lip, hesitating for a moment before carefully lifting the kitten. Star immediately slammed her little skull into Edelgard’s face as soon as she was close enough, making good on his request to be snuggly.

“Hope you like snuggly kitty-cats.” He eyed her room while she was distracted. It was similar to his own room (though not half as messy). Books, a few letters on her desk, and a few vases of flowers. He took note that she liked flowers, just in case he needed to bribe her in the future. Then he caught something _deliciously_ adorable laying on her bed. His eyes curled into crescents. “Judging by your stuffed bear, I’m sure you won’t have a problem with snuggly kitties.”

Edelgard’s spine went ramrod straight. She leveled him a flat look. “That was a gift, actually.”

He raised both hands in front of him. “Hey, no judgment here!”

“Get out of my room, Claude.”

“I’m in the hallway, actually.”

Edelgard pursed her lips. “That you are.” Then she shut the door in his face.

He bit back a laugh. “Rude!” He shook his head. Who knew the Princess had a secret soft side. Those kittens had _better_ be healthy come morning. But he doubted Edelgard would harm them, no matter how icy she could be.

His stomach growled. “Oh damn, the dining hall!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude is busy playing 5D underwater chess, overthinking everything. Also Claude: being super-sneaky and paranoid about his visits to Ye Olde Pet Food Store. Did Hubert actually fall for Claude's scheme, or did he merely allow Claude to *think* that he fell for them? Or maybe he thinks that Claude thinks that he thinks that-
> 
> Nope, I'm not doing this again.
> 
> Claude and Hubert may only have like 1 time they talk together in canon. But their dialog is just _so_... I don't even know. It cracks me up every time. Claude's in the middle of taking Enbarr. And the two of them just start quipping at each other in metaphors. I love their dynamic even if it's only for like 2 seconds. 
> 
> Next chapter: Golden Deer, baby birds, and some Dimitri


	6. Burying the boy you like in animal snuggles is romantic, right fellas?

“Do you think he’s noticed? There’s no way he doesn’t know, right?”

Claude sauntered up to Hilda and Marianne. “Who hasn’t noticed what? Gossiping without me, Hilda? I’m hurt.”

Hilda pointed to Raphael. “He’s missing a button. Like, come on, how can he _not_ notice?”

He side-eyed Hilda. She hadn’t been looking at Raphael before Claude walked up. “That’s not that weird. He loses buttons all the time.”

Hilda waved a hand. “I mean, haven’t you noticed that everyone seems to be losing things recently? Raphael’s lost a button, Lorenz will _not_ stop blubbering about how someone ‘stole’ the fake rose he always pins to his lapel, and Ignatz lost his art book. And _I_ lost a bottle of my favorite perfume! Isn’t that kinda weird?”

Claude shrugged. “People lose things all the time. I haven’t lost anything recently. Maybe you just need to be more careful with your belongings, Hilda.”

She slugged his shoulder. He narrowed his eyes. She playfully punched him a lot, but this was softer than usual. _Odd._ “Back me up here, Marianne. You’ve lost stuff too, right?”

Marianne, silent ever since Claude joined the conversation, jolted at being addressed. “O-oh, um, no, I haven’t lost anything recently…”

“See Hilda? Maybe it’s just you.” He laced his fingers behind his neck and leaned back, tipping his head to the side.

Hilda snatched his chin and righted his face, much to his surprise.

“…Excuse me?”

Hilda gave him a knowing smirk. “Well, guess that answers my earlier question. You seriously have no idea, do you.”

“You _were_ talking about me earlier. Well, I can’t claim to be all knowing. Care to enlighten me, oh wise Lady Goneril?”

She rolled her eyes. “Nah, it’s far more hilarious this way. Let me know when you figure it out.”

“Right…” Claude glanced down at his uniform. Nothing was out of place that he could see (other than a bit of stubborn cat fur). He patted his back, finding no ‘kick me’ sign or anything of the sort. He rubbed his face, dreading that his hand would come away with smeared ink. But no, that didn’t seem to be the case either. “Throw me a bone? C’mon, how about a hint?”

Hilda, the devil she was, just gave him a shit-eating grin.

“Say, Marianne, I’m sure you can help me out here. What’s got Hilda so satisfied, hm?”

“O-oh, um, Claude, you have—”

“Shush! Don’t tell him Mari!”

“N-nevermind.”

Claude gave her a heartbroken expression. “But I thought we were friends, _Mari._ Friends don’t leave friends out to dry!”

“I— w-w-we um, do you really—”

“Ugh, Claude, stop antagonizing her! You’re such a menace!”

He cocked his head to the side again. “No can do!”

Again Hilda forcefully righted his face. As soon as Hilda’s hand left his chin, he jerked his head to the other side. Marianne’s eyes flew wide and she clasped a hand to her mouth. Hilda grimaced. Claude heard an angry peep.

Claude blinked in confusion. Something sharp poked into his scalp. Slowly, he brought a hand up to his hair. He bumped into something that was _not_ supposed to be there. Something sharp jabbed at his hand, forcing him to pull away.

“Hilda.”

“Yes Claude?”

“What is in my hair?”

“Just a baby birdie. Been there the _entire_ class period. I’m surprised you didn’t hear it peep earlier.”

Claude winced. He _had_ heard a few bird chirps that sounded oddly close, but he didn’t realize it was _in his hair._ He tried to grab the little thing again, only to be pecked at for a second time.

“D’aww, I think you made it grumpy by shaking your head so much.”

Claude cleared his throat. _How had he not noticed?_ “Well, guess I’ve got a little passenger. C’mere lil’ fella— ow!”

Hilda threw back her head and laughed at his plight.

Shaking his hand, he gave up on trying to remove the bird. He glanced up. He couldn’t see the bird at all. “How big is it? It doesn’t weigh anything at all.”

“O-oh, he’s very small.” Marianne held her fingers a bit apart. “He barely peeks out of your hair.”

Hilda was still laughing at him. “Yeah, it’s pretty well nested in your hair. I wouldn’t have noticed it at all, except—” she snorted, pausing to catch her breath— “it’s bright blue! Like Mari’s hair!”

His eye twitched. He plastered on a smirk. “I see.” _Great,_ now he needed to figure out where the bird came from and return him to his nest. He had enough animals exploiting him already! He didn’t need to add a bird into the mix.

_Damn._ He planned to get together with Dimitri after class, but that would have to wait. He frowned. On second thought, maybe he was spending too much time around Dimitri. He was taking up too much space in Claude’s head.

“Say, either of you ladies want to help me find this birdie’s parents? I need to give them a lecture about abandoning their kid with a stranger.”

“Um, I can help…” Marianne was adamant about looking at her feet and not at him. With Marianne agreeing, that dragged Hilda into (reluctantly) agreeing to help as well.

Marianne led them to one of the less-used courtyards. “Um, I don’t know if this is the right place, but a lot of birds like to nest in those trees…” she pointed up. Sure enough, there were plenty of birds visible in one of the trees. Specifically, a lot of bluebirds. The bird in his hair again poked at his scalp as he tilted his head to look up.

“So how do we figure out which one is missing a chick?” Hilda asked.

He tapped his chin. He wasn’t very experienced in the smaller variety of birds. “If we just leave him out, maybe the mother will come back for him?” In his experience, mama birds were _very_ protective over what they considered to be their young. Then again, the mama-bird left her baby with a complete stranger, so she wasn't winning any mother-of-the-year awards.

“Um, i-if you just leave him on the ground, a cat might come by…”

He clucked his tongue. “Good point. Well, what do you suggest?”

“M-me?” Marianne looked stricken at the very _idea_ that she might have something useful to say. “You shouldn’t ask me, I don’t know…”

“But you’re _so_ good with animals!” Hilda draped herself over an increasingly flustered Marianne. “Why, I bet you’ve been in Claude’s position before!”

“Oh, um, no, I haven’t.” Claude raised an eyebrow at that. With how great Marianne was with animals, he had his doubts. She must get covered in birds as soon as no one was around. “I guess I did help a fletchling once. She hurt her wing, so I nursed her back to health… um, when she was better, I put her in a nest I made myself, somewhere high enough that she wouldn’t be eaten… When I came back, she was gone. So either her parents found her, or, um, she was eaten anyways…”

Hilda snapped her fingers. “So all we need to do is have Claude sit around and wait for the momma bird to take her baby from him. His hair counts as a nest, right?”

He sighed and ignored Hilda’s jab at his hair. “Great. Well, I guess I _could_ take a nap…” Ugh, he would _really_ prefer ~~to be with Dimitri~~ to be reading right now.

He was interrupted by a white shape darting past one of the rosebushes and slamming into his legs. 

“One of these days you’re going to be big enough to knock me over,” he murmured. Noodle squeaked at him, raising her wings in her plea to be picked up. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Dimitri?”

“Ah— Claude!” Dimitri jogged around the corner. “Apologies. Noodle was very determined to leave me behind.”

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite wyvern-flipper and favorite wyvern.” Claude already felt his mood lifting. “D’aww, did you miss me?” He carefully bent down to scratch Noodle’s head while making sure not to tilt his own head. “Did she behave well in class?”

Dimitri nodded. “Of course. She always does.” Dimitri did a double-take. Claude refrained from groaning as he realized _why_ Dimitri did a double-take. “Claude, there appears to be something in your hair…?”

He winked, cocking a grin. “Allow me to introduce you to my newest friend!” He made a small flourish at his hair. “You see, the poor thing fell out of his nest, so I had to offer him a new home!”

Dimitri’s eyes went wide. “Is that so? How kind of you!”

Claude laughed (and ignored that Hilda was also laughing. At _him.)_ “No, that’s not true at all! Hah, didn’t think you’d believe me. Nah, I woke up with him in my hair, and whenever I try to move him the grumpy little guy pecks me. Watch!” Claude reached up and, predictably, was pecked. He shook his hand, wincing. “Ow.” 

“Forgive me for taking you at your word,” Dimitri said with a smile and just a hint of sarcasm. Upon getting to know Dimitri better, Claude was coming to see he _did_ have something of a sense of humor, underdeveloped as it was. “You foster enough animals as it is, fostering a chick in your hair is very in character.”

Claude rolled his eyes, hating how the tips of his ears burned. “You give me too much credit. My ‘charity’ is not as good natured as you think. I just can’t stand being whined at constantly.”

Dimitri spared him an adorable smile that Claude hated, because it made his stomach _do things._ “If you say so.”

“You don’t believe me? Betrayal!”

Dimitri brought a hand to his lips, as if that could cover the amusement curving his eyes. “You lied to me not a minute ago. I’m coming to learn to look beneath your words for what you _actually_ mean.”

_Well that’s a terrifying statement._ Claude winked. “You can stare at me all you want, but you’ll never learn what goes on in this schemer’s head.”

They were interrupted as the chick on his head began cheeping. Carefully reaching up to steady the bird, he tilted his head up to look up.

“Looks like someone spotted his mother…” He glanced around at the various birds. “Hey, any of you guys see any birds replying?”

“Well, plenty are singing…” Dimitri said.

He rolled his eyes. “Plenty are calling out for _mates._ But at least one of them should sound…” He paused. Snapping his fingers, he pointed at one of the bluebirds circling above. “Bingo. That’s the mother.”

“How can you tell?” Hilda asked. He internally jumped at the sound of her voice. He’d forgotten she was there.

“That’s a specific kind of bird-call. She’s calling for her baby to come to her. I’d recognize that sound anywhere.”

“So you _have_ had this happen to you before!” she cried.

“I never said that.” He felt a small twang of homesickness from listening to the bird cry. It was much, much different than Ama’s occasional calls, but recognizable nonetheless. He wondered how she was doing back in Almyra. She was probably having the vacation of her life without him around. That, or she was fussing her head off without him to fuss over.

Fifteen minutes later, many more scrapes against his scalp and hand, and the baby bird was back in his nest. Hilda was busy fawning over Marianne, who was the only one that knew how to climb a tree (thus the one to settle the bird in the nest).

Claude was too busy watching Dimitri’s face to watch the touching scene of baby and bird reuniting (or more likely, the mother scolding the baby). Dimitri watched the scene with a gentle smile on his face. 

Then Dimitri’s eyes blew wide. “I was supposed to meet Ingrid at the training grounds!”

Claude sucked air between his teeth. “Ooh, she’s not one to appreciate tardiness.” He didn’t know Ingrid well, but that didn’t stop her from berating him on his ‘conduct’ the one time he stopped to have a conversation. She _was_ hilarious to rile up though, so he somewhat brought it on himself. “You better run.”

“I, yes I should!” He took a step away before whirling. “You’re alright taking care of Noodle for the rest of the day, yes?”

“‘Course!” He hefted Noodle into his arms. “On one condition. Allow me to tag along to witness His Royalness in action.” He winked for good measure.

“You don’t need to ask for that as a condition. The training ground is open to all, you know this.” He hummed, smiling. “But I suppose I shall need to put in some extra effort today. It would not do to misrepresent the strength of Faerghus.” Claude knew Dimitri meant that in the most platonic way possible. How this man was real, Claude still didn’t know.

“Aww, you sure know how to make a fella feel special! I’ll take plenty of notes. They’ll come in handy when the Battle of Eagle and Lion roll around.”

Dimitri leveled him with a disappointed look. “I suppose I should expect that from you. Dishonorable, yet…” Dimitri’s frown eased into something softer, “I expect nothing less from your shrewd mind. I can’t imagine you passing up an opportunity for an advantage, even the slimmest of ones.” His soft look shifted into something more feisty. “I have my own condition, then. You’re free to watch me train all you wish, so long as I am granted the same opportunity in return.”

He laughed, his mouth oddly dry. It was an odd reaction. The notion of Dimitri trying to pick apart his form— to find his weakness and flaws to exploit— was a bad one. And yet, the image of Dimitri _studying_ him, _watching_ his every movement… _That_ invoked more of those fluttering, happy-weird-uncertain emotions in his gut. He shouldn’t give Dimitri access to watch him. “You’ve got yourself a deal. Though I’m getting a much better deal from this bargain. I don’t train half as much as you.”

“And yet I’m sure your form will be twice as enlightening.” He was interrupted by the hourly bell tolling. His eyes went wide as he jolted. “Blast! I really _must_ go now. I’ll see you at the training grounds soon!”

And with that, Dimitri left.

“You’ll ‘take notes’, hmmm?”

“Shush, you.”

Hilda looked at him with that _knowing_ look of hers. She leaned against his shoulder with a cat-like grin. “Not sure how the curvature of Dimitri’s ass is gonna help you in future battles.”

_“Hilda.”_ His eyes darted around to make sure Dimitri was out of hearing range. Marianne too— she was still fussing with birds, luckily. “Watch your mouth.”

“Like how you watch your Prince’s mouth?”

He leveled a flat look at her. From the day Dimitri flipped that wyvern, there had been no point in denying his simple attraction, not to Hilda. She’d seen more than enough that any protests he could make would fall flat. She was both unbearable in her teasing and his only confidant.

“He liked the bird in your hair. Maybe you should do that more often.” She slumped all of her weight against him. “He’s _so_ smitten with you. Not as far gone as you are, but still.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me for being skeptical.”

“But Claude, _your form will be twice as enlightening to watch in action, oh look at me I’m the Prince of swooning!”_

“He’s dense, you’ve seen him. The pinnacle of princely purity and innocence. I bet I could squeeze his ass and he’d thank me for giving him a ‘massage’ or some other nonsense.”

Hilda gasped. “Oh Goddess, I _totally_ dare you to do that!”

“I’m not doing that.”

She smirked at him. “Too scared?”

He smirked right back. “I’ll do it if you slap Marianne’s ass.”

Her smirk thundered into a scowl. “I’m not doing that to”— she twisted to make sure Marianne was still out of hearing range— “I’m not doing that to her!”

“Too scared?”

She slugged his shoulder. “Don’t you have a prince to moon after? Get going!” She shoved him. “I want all the details later!”

He wiggled his eyebrows. _“All_ of them?”

“Gross, nevermind!”

* * *

Inviting Dimitri over to his room to pet the animals was romantic, right? Dimitri loved animals. So it was a romantic gesture on Claude’s part to invite Dimitri to something he loved. Dimitri always eagerly agreed to join him in his room, after all, whether to visit Noodle or to study/visit Noodle or to drink tea/visit Noodle. Claude always had animals in his room, and Dimitri always eagerly agreed to visit his room. Thus, Dimitri liked the animals in his room. They were the one constant.

Claude was at least 65% sure it was a romantic gesture. Was this a date, then? Were they having a date? What even _defines_ a date, anyways? He hung out with Hilda a lot, but none of those instances were dates. What was the difference between ‘hanging out’ and ‘having a date’? 

Maybe he should check the library for a book on romance. What even _was_ romance? Why were people just expected to _know_ these kinds of things? Giving gifts was considered romantic, right? No, Teach gave people gifts all the time and they were the most platonic person he knew. Flowers? No, again, Teach loved to give out flowers. Eating food together? Nope, Teach. 

Animals. The answer had to be animals. Animals were romantic. Except when they weren’t. Wait, was it ethical for him to use innocent animals in order to get closer to— 

“I still can’t believe you named him Butter,” Dimitri said from where he sat cross legged on Claude’s carpet petting Butter. “Perhaps, were he yellow, I would understand.”

“Hah, well, it’s quite the story.” Dimitri was _definitely_ a dog person. Butter was very happy about this fact.

Dimitri smiled down at Butter, Claude’s heart flipping at the gentle look. Sure, Dimitri gave that smile to Noodle all the time (and sometimes to _Claude),_ but he wasn’t sure it was possible to get used to such a soft expression. It was like whatever darkness inside of Dimitri eased away, his burden set down. It was a beaming smile— soft, small, and oh so tender. _Happy._

“Are you good for Claude, Buddy? Ah, Butter, I mean.” Claude froze. “Oh, is that why you call him Butter, Claude?” Dimitri chuckled. “Are you too embarrassed to call him ‘Buddy’?”

“What? No, I call him Butter because he is what he eats.” _How_ did Dimitri figure that out?! He never told anyone that! The first few nights he started taking care of Butter, he _did_ call the old dog Buddy. It hadn’t really been a name, just _‘hey Buddy, how do you feel?’_ or a _‘guess you’re hungry, huh Buddy?’_ Claude waved a hand. “I dropped a pound of butter and he ate it. Thus: Butter.” Which was true. It wasn’t like the dog was _his_ anyways. He never planned to name him, it was just something done out of convenience. Butter just liked to hang around him. On lonely nights (which Butter _always_ seemed to be able to predict), Butter was a good budd— Butter was a good _dog_ to have around.

Dimitri didn’t even look phased by his story, didn’t even ask the usual _‘why did you have a pound of butter??’_ that Claude always got. Dimitri just kept smiling, kept petting Butter. “You look like a Buddy,” he murmured to the dog. “A very good Buddy, hm? That’s right, good Buddy…”

Budd— _Butter_ seemed to take this as an invitation, pressing forward to lick Dimitri’s face. Claude bit his lip, looking away. Dimitri was _far_ too cute. Unfortunately, Dimitri wasn’t done.

“Heh, do you like being called Buddy? I think it’s a much more fitting name. Hm, you seem to respond to the name too…”

“Like you said, Butter and Buddy sound similar. He’s just confusing your ‘Buddy’ for my ‘Butter.’”

Dimitri glanced over at him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that so…?” His lips curled into a knowing smirk. “I’m unconvinced. I can envision it perfectly: you named him Buddy, but then realized it didn’t fit your image, so you changed it to Butter.”

“Pff, that’s ridiculous.” It was terrifying how close to the mark Dimitri was. How did he predict that? He couldn’t know Claude _that_ well after knowing him for such a short time, right? “Are you saying Butter is a bad name?” He looked away from Dimitri’s entrancing eyes to address Butter. “Are you willing to accept this slander, Butter?”

Butter butted into Dimitri’s hand, his tail wagging. Dimitri’s smile remained smug. “It seems he is. And… you didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what? Deny your baseless conjecture?” He rolled his eyes.

“No need to sound so defensive. Besides…” Dimitri trailed off. Claude made the mistake of looking back at him, catching an expression Claude was coming to love (when not aimed at him). _A look of mischief._ He liked to think it was his influence that brought out the buried mischief in the prince. “For as much as you twist words and facts, you rarely lie outright. So tell me Claude: did you name him Buddy?”

“What? I lie all the time. Your faith in me is adorable” _—wait, he didn’t mean to call Dimitri adorable out loud—_ “but not all of us are so honor-bound as your lot.”

“So you _did_ name him Buddy.”

“I didn’t!” Claude cried. _Technically,_ he didn’t, sort of. It hadn’t been an official name, after all. “I named him Butter!”

Dimitri laughed at him. It was that sweet, soft, amused laugh that was genuine. Unfortunately, it was aimed at Claude. “You wouldn’t sound so flustered if this was baseless conjecture. I don’t see why you’re so embarrassed. I think it’s very sweet.”

_And sappy._ The old dog limped into Claude’s life on his first day at the academy, before the school year even began. If he was honest with himself, which he strived to do no matter how painful, he’d been very lonely at the time. And… suffering from a bout of homesickness, really. It had been nice to have something to spend time with in his room. Something that wouldn’t try to stab him, or twist his words, or figure him out. Sure, he had Vish, whom he loved and adored, but she wasn’t exactly the affectionate type.

“I suppose I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” Dimitri conceded, looking far too satisfied to _actually_ be giving him the benefit of the doubt. “After all, you named Noodle, well, Noodle.”

Claude gasped, bringing a hand to his lips. “Are you slandering our _daughter’s_ name now?”

“No, of course not. Though, I’m still puzzled by your name choice.”

Noodle, as if aware she was the current subject, uncoiled from where she was curled tightly around his neck, standing up to nuzzle his cheek. “She’s very noodle-y. And white. It was between Noodle or Milk.” He’d also seriously considered Egg, but in the end concluded it was rude to name her Egg when she just escaped from her egg.

Dimitri choked on his spit. _“Milk?!”_

“I mean, _she’s_ white, _milk_ is white… I’m feeling a lot of judgement here.”

Dimitri laughed, shaking his head. “Were you hungry the day you named her?”

“Well Mister Name-Master, what would you have named her?”

Dimitri hummed. “I think… Guenevere. Yes, that would be an excellent name befitting of her. It means ‘white’ in old Faerghan. It was also the name of King Loog’s wife, who herself was a fierce knight.”

Claude felt a pang of jealousy. He would have loved to name Noodle an actual name. Just… it felt wrong naming her a Fódlan name. He had a few Almyran names that would have been nice, but they were nothing but fantasy. He cleared his throat, crossing his arms into an X. “Vetoed! I’m not naming our baby girl anything that I can’t spell, _Blaiddyd._ Nice try!”

“Gwyndolin, then? Oh don’t give me that look. Fine. Pearl? Or perhaps… hm, Ivory? I trust you can spell those.”

“I’d suggest sugar, but I’ve already named a pegasus Sugarecube. Cream?”

“Cloud?”

“Cloud sounds too close to my name, nope. Hm… Onion.”

“Onion?! Claude, you cannot name our child Onion!”

Claude stuck his tongue out. “My child, my naming rules!” He patted Noodle’s head. “You wouldn’t mind being called Onion, hmmm?”

Noodle cocked her head at him, then jumped off his shoulder and onto Dimitri. Dimitri shot him a smug look that said more than his words ever could.

“Fine, not Onion then. Good thing she likes Noodle.”

Noodle chirped in agreement.

Dimitri leaned back against Claude’s bed, humming. He petted Butter with one hand, petting Noodle with the other. His eyes slid shut. Claude held back a worried grimace. Dimitri was, as he often was, physically exhausted. It hurt a bit to watch him like this. He hadn’t found a way to diplomatically bring up the frequent exhaustion without sounding like a nosy ass. Usually he didn’t let that get in the way of his curiosity, but he was trying to play it safe with Dimitri.

“You know, I bet Butter would love to be your _buddy_ if you want to sleep with him.” Maybe Dimitri would sleep better with someone by his side. He sure seemed to sleep well the one time he used _Claude_ as a sleep buddy. And hey, if sleeping with Butter didn’t work, it would be a perfect excuse to offer himself up next… 

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly take him away from you.”

“Oh yes,” Claude deadpanned, “because I’ll be so lonely with only a wyvern, three kittens, a snake, and the occasional flock of birds that like to frequent my room. Without Butter, I’ll be _so_ alone.” Claude settled next to Dimitri, knocking his shoulder against the Prince. “Besides, Butter likes to be helpful.”

“I suppose I could try it…”

Claude patted Dimitri’s head the same way Dimitri patted Butter’s. “Next time a dog decides to stick around, I’ll let you name it. So long as you don’t name it Buddy.”

Dimitri smiled at him. “Of course not, I wouldn’t give Butter’s name to another dog.”

Claude rolled his eyes.

“Hm… a good name for a dog… I suppose it would depend on the dog. I’m much more confident in my own naming skills than yours, though.”

“Psh. We need a naming system. I named Noodle, so you can name our next child, then it’ll be my turn again…” Claude covered a yawn behind his hands. Maybe Dimitri wasn’t the only tired one.

Dimitri hummed. “What would your next name choice be, if we had a child?”

“Mmm… Apples.”

“Oh, my apologies, I suppose I wasn’t clear. I was thinking about a human child.”

Claude’s eyelids were heavy. “My answer remains the same.”

“Claude! You can’t name a human child _Apples.”_

“Why not? Apples is a good name!”

Dimitri yawned this time, spreading it back to Claude who yawned again. “I wonder what it’ll take for us to agree on a name.”

Claude shrugged, his eyelids refusing to stay open. “Could name… Peaches… or Carrot… or Gratin…”

Dimitri huffed a laugh. Claude felt his breath against the nape of his neck. “You must be hungry. I’m surprised that you didn’t name your kittens after food as well.”

“Mmm…” Claude allowed his head to slide over, resting on Dimitri’s shoulder. Not the most comfortable spot, but he’d take what he could get. Food names or object names were safe. He knew that they were words. Name-names? Less certain. Growing up in Almyra, he had no context towards what was a normal Fodlandi name and what wasn’t, aside from a small sample size. He wasn’t going to name anyone _Claude jr._

He was very sleepy, and Dimitri’s shoulder was nice… 

“Chamomile!” Claude shouted, his eyes springing open. Dimitri violently jerked next to him. Claude blinked in the darkness of the room. _Whoops,_ he fell asleep.

“Nrk… huh?”

“It’s the perfect name. You like chamomile, I like chamomile…”

“I… yes…?”

“For our hypothetical human child name!”

“Claude, we aren’t naming our child _Chamomile.”_

Claude groaned. “People name their kids after flowers all the time… ‘M tryin’ to compromise…” His eyes were already drooping again. “‘Cause I’m a gracious husband…” He nuzzled into Dimitri’s shoulder.

Dimitri murmured something, but Claude was too tired. He barely noticed Dimitri lifting him into bed, tucking him in. He only realized it when his door clicked shut, his room feeling much emptier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a national holiday (Claude's birthday) so to celebrate I'm posting this chapter a little early ;) 
> 
> Claude, reading a book on courtship: So... give him a dagger? Carve him a wooden spoon? Stand outside his window at night and serenade him? Give him a bunch of shiny rocks? Take of my shirt and dance? Why are these all so nonsensical??  
> Claude: Maybe I should just ask Hilda...  
> Claude: ...Not happening. Shiny rocks it is!


	7. Dangerously Tender; Terminally Oblivious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lil' bit of Cyril, and a whole lot of pining over Dimitri (again)

There was a cat yowling at his pant leg.

A very familiar cat.

“Hah, I was totally right!” Hilda was very smug. Whatever she was ‘right’ about, it better not involve his Almyran heritage.

“Wow, Kelled’s pretty loud today…” Ignatz murmured. “Usually he only comes by when Cyril’s around.”

Hilda smirked at him.  _ Why. What did she know?! _ “No feline can resist Claude’s charms. Or bird. Or any animal, I guess.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He ignored the cat screaming at him. Unfortunately, it was hard to ignore when said cat started climbing up his pants. With very sharp claws. Tugging the cat off his leg by the scruff, the cat latched onto his arm. Noodle sniffed at the creature attempting to mutilate his limb, nuzzling against the demonic feline.  _ Thanks Noodle. Truly reliable. _ “Can someone get Cyril,” he grunted. “Preferably before I’m clawed to bits.”

“Huh, I don’t think I’ve ever seen an animal attack Claude before…” The cat wasn’t 'attacking' him exactly, just resisting his attempts to  _ remove him. _

“You’re not helping!”

He finally tugged the cat off his arm, planting him firmly on the ground.  _ Khalid-the-cat _ bit at his pant leg, gnawing on the fabric and tugging.

“Oh, maybe Colleen wants you to follow him!” Raphael said.  _ Gods, _ that pronunciation wasn’t even  _ close! _

“Fine, fine. Maybe Cyril fell down a well or something. Lead the way, demon-cat.”

As soon as he made move to follow it, the cat dashed away (not before checking to make sure Claude was following). Claude considered abandoning the cat when it just kept leading them on and on. Either Cyril was at the edge of the monastery, or the cat was pulling a prank on them. 

“It’s rather odd to see him without Cyril,” Lysithea murmured, following him. Her, Raphael, and Ignatz decided to follow the cat too. And Hilda, because if he was being dragged across the monastery by a cat, he was dragging someone else down with him.

They crossed the bridge. Instead of going into the cathedral, the cat took a left, leading them to a spot near the Goddess Tower. An odd spot, out of the way of anything important that Claude was aware of. Then the cat stopped in front of a pile of rubble, sat down, and began yowling. 

“That’s odd,” Ignatz murmured. He pointed up at the wall. “That bust finally crumbled, I guess. I knew it was looking bad, but I didn’t realize it was so bad it would fall apart on its own…”

Claude noticed a detail that made his blood go cold. Half buried under the rubble was a wooden ladder. His eyes darted across the rubble. Then he saw the outstretched hand.

“Cyril! Cyril, can you hear me? We’ll get you out of there!”

The fingers on the hand wiggled.

Between himself, Hilda, and Raphael (mostly Raphael), they unburied Cyril in record time. Fortunately, the large stone bust had crumbled into mostly small pieces. Unfortunately, there had still been some big ones. Cyril’s arm was very broken and his head very concussed.

Cyril slurred something in broken Almyran. Lysithea did her best to patch him up, but she wasn’t skilled enough to treat concussions. Still, there was a silver-lining to be had. Watching Cyril deliriously smile and relax around Lysithea was heartening. He drooled on her, and she didn’t even get mad at him.

After a flurry of getting Cyril help, they all collapsed with relief when Manuela announced he would be fine after a lot of rest.

_ “‘A lot of rest.’” _ Claude shook his head. “I don’t think the kid knows the definition of rest. We’re going to have to strap him to his bed.”

“I’ll make sure he rests,” Lysithea declared, adorably serious.

“I don’t think  _ you _ know the definition of rest either.”

“Excuse me?  _ Some _ of us aren’t lazy like you, Claude!”

He turned to Raphael and Ignatz. He cleared his throat. “As the Sovereign House Leader of our glorious Golden Deer, I hereby entrust the two of you with the duty of making sure Cyril rests. By proxy, that includes making sure Lysithea rests too. I authorize the use of any force deemed necessary.”

“Hey! I rest plenty!” Lysithea lied, like the workaholic liar she was.

Ignatz gave a light laugh. “Well, we’ll do our best…”

Raphael, by contrast, laughed much louder and slapped Claude on the back. “Wow! That sounded super official! It’s like I’m a real knight! You can count on us!”

Hilda mock clapped. “I think you’re all forgetting the  _ real _ hero of the day!” She pointed to the cat, who was camped outside of the infirmary door. Poor thing really wanted to see Cyril, but Manuela was still finishing up with him. Hilda swept the cat into her arms, much to  _ Khalid-the-cat’s _ distress. “Can you imagine if it wasn’t for Kali-eed? Poor Cyril would be a goner!”

“Khalid, Hilda. His name is  _ Khah-leed. Khalid. _ It’s not that hard.”

Cyril must be giving Lysithea lessons. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He raised an eyebrow at her. “Last week you called him Kaleed.” And before that  _ Cat-leed. _ That pronunciation had been somewhat acceptable in his books, if only for the pun factor. 

“Isn’t that what she just said?” Raphael whispered to Ignatz, who shrugged in reply.

Hilda threw up her hands. “Who cares? He’s a cat!”

Khalid-the-cat finally freed himself from Hilda, scrambling to hide behind Lysithea. She bent down to pick up the cat, which he enjoyed much more than Hilda’s forceful hold. 

“You’re such a good boy, Khalid,” Lysithea cooed. 

Hilda scoffed. “You’re just showing off.”

“Hmph. I am merely calling Khalid by his name. You appreciate it, don’t you Khalid?” He purred like thunder in reply. Her serious expression melted a moment later. “Oh, you’re such a sweet boy, Khalid.” She mushed her face into his fur. “Good Khalid, yes, good boy.”

_ Right.  _ Time for him to leave.

* * *

“How did you convince me to do this again?”

“Come  _ on _ Claude, it’s the last day of the Garland Moon!”

He rolled his eyes. “And this concerns me how? You’re the one that procrastinated.”

“Are you trying to tell me you can’t do this? Those dexterous fingers that are so good at twirling quills and arrows…” 

“Never said I couldn't do this. Just don’t know  _ why.” _

“Be _ cause, _ you need to give one to Dimitri!”

Claude choked on his spit, eyes flying around the greenhouse. They were alone, fortunately. “Hilda, don’t say that kind of thing so loud.”

She pursed her lips and gave him a set of wide eyes that she  _ knew _ didn’t work on him. “But Claude, I don’t know what you mean! Are you saying you  _ don’t _ want to give Prince Dimitri a garland?”

“Oh  _ sure. _ Don’t get me wrong, it’d be hilarious to see his face if I gave him one. But I don’t want him getting the wrong idea. That’d be awkward.”

“Wrong idea?” Hilda raised an eyebrow. 

He picked up one of the flowers, wiggling it at Hilda. Noodle batted at it from where she lay around his neck. “Garlands are for potential lovers.”

Hilda blinked at him, and for a moment Claude worried he was misremembering that tradition. Then she threw back her head and laughed at him. “That’s  _ one _ meaning! Hah, I see where  _ your _ head’s at! Garlands are given to potential lovers and  _ friends.” _ She poked his forehead. “It would be a great gesture to give to your prince for saving your ass from that wyvern.”

He rolled his eyes, doing his best to hide the fact that no, he hadn’t known the other meaning. He was mostly certain Hilda wasn’t messing with him though. “A pretty cheap way to repay him. Besides, we both know you didn’t drag me out here for my sake.”

“Maybe I want to hang out with my bestie! It’s boring sitting here all on my lonesome.” She pouted at him. “Are you upset at me? Is it because I keep calling out how far gone you are for Dimitri?”

“No and no, because I’m just  _ friends _ with Dimitri.” He wasn’t sure why he even bothered denying his appreciation of Dimitri to her. She knew. Even Noodle knew. “What about you and Marianne, huh?”

Hilda waved a hand. “I won’t deny it. Marianne’s  _ so cute.” _ She pointed at her unfinished garland. “Who do you think I’m making this for? Yeesh.”

“I don’t even know how to make one of these. I’ve never needed to make a flower crown before. Aren’t women supposed to make these?”

“Oh my gosh, you’re pathetic. Here, it’s easy you big baby.”

Hilda leaned over and demonstrated hooking a few flower stems together. It didn’t look  _ easy _ exactly, but it looked simple enough. He eyed the selection of flowers. He chose a selection of blue anemone, forget-me-nots, and daisies. He considered using some lily of the valley, but Hilda was using them all.

After a bit, Noodle got bored of lounging around his neck. She hopped off and began nosing around the various plants in the greenhouse. He kept a loose eye on her to make sure she wasn’t running around eating all the poisonous flowers in the building. Fortunately, Noodle was relatively smart for a wyvern (and wyverns had iron stomachs anyways).

“So! Let’s hear about your efforts in wooing Dimitri.”

And  _ there’s _ the motive. “What was that? Sorry, too busy making this flower crown.” 

She groaned. “Claaaude! I’m  _ trying _ to help you out! Seriously, your pining is painful to watch.”

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nevermind. Clearly, you need a little  _ Hilda-magic _ to spice up your love-life. No offense but it’s been over a month and you haven’t so much as held his hand.”

“He’s not even interested.” Probably. “I’m not looking to rush into a relationship. I’m taking things slow on purpose.” It was unfamiliar territory, after all. He didn’t have anything to compare it to. Weren’t crushes supposed to fade away? He didn’t want to take the leap and  _ maybe _ start dating Dimitri, not when he might wake up any day now and find his crush gone. “I like him as a friend.”

“You like  _ me _ as a friend. You like Dimitri like he’s the alpha wyvern of your dreams preparing to sweep you off your feet.” He hated that Hilda knew him well enough to know that. He refused to show any embarrassment about how accurate her statement was. “Come on Claude! Talk to me here. You’re spending time with him— great. You need to take the heat up a notch. You should plan a romantic date with him.”

“Who’s to say I don’t already have those?”

“Me. I say. Studying and hanging out with Noodle do  _ not _ count as romantic dates. Though it  _ is _ absolutely adorable how seriously he takes his role as Noodle’s father.”

_ ‘I’m very aware,’ _ he doesn’t say. “He doesn’t even know Teach was joking about that. He genuinely thinks Noodle views him as a father-figure.”  _ Which, _ whether Teach was joking or not (they probably weren't), they weren’t  _ wrong _ that Noodle viewed both of them as her parental-figures. He shrugged, shaking his head and smirking. “I know I call us ‘co-parents’, but he doesn’t seem to realize I’m joking.”

“Claude, you do remember that I was there the first time you ‘jokingly’ referred to your ‘co-parenting’ responsibilities, right? Dimitri was  _ elated _ to be a parent with you, and you turned bright red and couldn’t string together a coherent sentence. You only  _ pretend  _ to joke about being parents. Considering you aren’t even  _ dating, _ you’re both disgustingly domestic.”

“You’re exaggerating,” he muttered. If anything, she was downplaying his reaction. Dimitri’s excited smile— aimed directly at  _ him, _ caused by  _ him, _ all for  _ him—  _ well, anyone would be flattered! Then Dimitri went on and on about how much of an honor it was, and how delighted he was to help raise Noodle… Combine all of that with how devastatingly cute Dimitri could be. Claude was only human. Some sights just weren’t meant for mortal eyes. It wasn’t his proudest moment.

“You and Dimitri both refer to Noodle as  **_“our daughter”_ ** Claude! One of these days I’m going to stumble onto you two discussing baby-names, but like, oblivious and naive to the implications.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He made a mental note to dispose of the list of potential baby names, both human and otherwise, that he and Dimitri came to a compromise on. It wasn’t a long list anyways. “Why are you trying to meddle in  _ my _ love-life? You haven’t had any romantic success with Marianne yet.”

“That’s because Marianne needs a slow, gentle warm-up before I start going romantic on her. She’s  _ so _ cute, but she’s got, like,  _ no _ self-confidence. I don’t want to spook her. And hey! I see you changing the subject.” She threw a daffodil at his face. “Tell me your next step in wooing your prince!”

“I’m still getting a feel for the kind of things he likes.” And reading every book on courtship he could find. So far, his spoils consisted of a single dubious book he swiped from Manuela.  _ Turns out, a  _ church _ doesn’t have many books on romance. _

_ “You _ Claude. He likes  _ you.” _

He ignored her, tossing a carnation at her. He managed to land the stem in her hair. She pouted at him. “He likes animals, I’ve gleaned that much. And training, chamomile, studying, lances, chivalry, and discussions about politics. Not much I can do with that. Other than tea parties, I’ve got nothing.” Which, according to his Teach-o-Meter, were considered platonic and not romantic.

“Goddess above, you’re hopeless.”

_ He was very aware. _ “I’m not.”

“Okay. Forget about Dimitri for a second. What’s the  _ pinnacle _ of romantic affection to you? Don’t be shy, there are no wrong answers. Except the answers that are wrong.”

He chucked another flower at her. He didn't know! That was the problem! His experience with courtship consisted of watching Ama being gifted a bunch of shiny rocks and colorful junk. There was also a lot of screaming involved. Occasional dead mice. And eggs. Eggs were involved. Was  building a bed for your potential mate considered romantic?

She sighed. “You’re  _ so _ hopeless. Try thinking about your parents if you’re stumped. Like, what do they find romantic?”

He frowned. “If you think my parents act romantic around me, you’re wrong.” She threw a rose at him. With thorns, ow. “Fine. Gah, I don’t know. Wrestling? Competing? Training?”

Hilda stopped working on her garland to gape at him.  _ “Wow. _ Okay, maybe I shouldn’t make fun of you so much. Your parents sound like the  _ least _ romantic couple I have ever heard of. Didn’t you say your mom  _ eloped? _ That’s super romantic!”

“So you’re saying I should elope with Dimitri.”

“No you dummy! Okay, don’t use your parents as a romantic metric.”

“Training can be romantic…” he muttered under his breath. Watching Dimitri demolish training dummies, covered in sweat, accidentally snapping lances, flexing and—

“Training is not romantic. Sexy maybe, but not romantic. Ugh, how about intimate things? Doesn’t even have to be romantic. What’s the most affectionate of affectionate activities for you?”

He snapped his fingers. “I know this one. Grooming!”

His confidence faced a painful death as Hilda slowly blinked at him. “…Grooming.”

“You know, hygiene?”

“I guess bathing together counts. Light a few candles, maybe add some rose petals…”

He made a face. “No. Doing each other's hair.”

She raised her eyebrows. “So out of everything, the most intimate thing you can think of is  _ combing hair.” _

“You know, when you say it like that, it makes me wonder why you’re my bestie. It’s very rude to shoot me down. I’m  _ sensitive, _ Hilda. I’m a  _ delicate flower.” _

A moment later, an entire sunflower smacked him in the face.

“Maybe you should take a page out of my book. Try combing Marianne’s hair! I bet she’d love that.” He started ticking off his fingers. “It shows that you care about her wellbeing. It’s fun, and it feels great. It’s practical, since it’s hard to comb your own head. It’s a show of trust, especially if you manage to get her to relax. And it’s nice and calm, perfect for skittish Marianne.”

“You’ve really thought about this, huh.”

“Not really.” He shrugged. “Never really thought about it in a romantic sense, but it’s kinda romantic! Though I’m not sure I’m ready to go that far with Dimitri yet.” He felt a faint heat against his cheeks at the idea.

“Parenting a wyvern together is fine, but combing each other's hair is too far? You’re an odd one, Claude.”

He chucked a handful of mini-sunflowers at her.

“You know, dwarf sunflowers symbolize  _ adoration, _ Claude. Got something to confess to me?”

He snorted. “What do the regular sized ones mean, then?”

She winked. “Haughtiness. Perfect for you. And, um,” she tapped on her chin, “an abundance of thoughts? I think. I only know a few flower meanings.”

He glanced down at his garland for Dimitri. It was almost done. “I haven’t accidentally told Dimitri to go fuck himself, right?”

She laughed at him. “Even if you did, do you  _ really _ think Dimitri of all people knows about flower language? Um, let’s see… I only know about the anemones. They represent forsaken love, sickness, anticipation, or undying love.”

“That’s a lot of mixed messages right there.” He frowned. “Sickness, really?”

“I know right! It’s  _ so _ dumb. Anemones are, like, the prettiest flower!”

“Anemones can be used to make calming tinctures or to help with sleep. Course, take too much of it and you’ll get the fun side effects of nausea, dizziness, and hallucinations. Vomiting and bowel issues if you take way too much.”

“Um, excuse me?”

He shrugged. “What? It’s interesting.” He pointed back to the sunflowers. “The seeds of  _ those _ have the special property of being,  _ gasp, _ absolutely delicious.”

“You have some seriously weird hobbies.”

He just hummed, focusing on getting his garland right. “And… done! Yeah, you were right, that wasn’t too hard at all.”

“Hm, glad you’re finished already. Maybe you should help me out.”

“Nope, you’re on your own. I’m making a second one.” With Dimitri’s done, there was someone else that he wanted to make a garland for. Someone that enjoyed flowers, was always by his side, and was admittedly cute in her own right… 

The second one didn’t take him as long. He took pride in his work even if it was only a circle of flowers. He used daisies, pink anemones, and some of the mini-sunflowers that Hilda was also using a lot of. 

_ Adoration. _ Yep, she definitely had her share of adorers. 

“I hope you’re done by now, because I’m two for two.” He held up his second garland, trying to judge the size. He might have made it too big.

“Mmm… yep! All done. Aww, look at your cute flower crowns! Didn’t know you had it in you.”

He winked. “Yours look amazing as well, of course. Now what? We present them to their recipients?”

Hilda nodded. “Yep! Say, who’s the second one for?” She gave him a knowing smile.

Claude puffed up his chest. “Why, for my favorite lady, of course!”

“Aww, Claude, you shouldn’t have!”

“For the most beautiful of them all.” He flourished the crown. “Noodle!”

Noodle chirped at the sound of her name, her head popping out of a bush of flowers. He clucked his tongue a few times, and she obediently bounded over to him. He slipped the little flower crown over her antlers. She shook her head, but otherwise seemed indifferent to the flowers. 

“I should’ve expected that.” Hilda held her face in her hands. “You’re such a sap.”

“Not a sap.”

“Totally a sap. Ugh, you’re lucky she’s adorable.”

“What? Doesn’t she look great?” He picked Noodle up, letting her perch on his arm.

Hilda leaned over to pat Noodle’s head, lowering her voice to baby-talk. “Aww, did your mommy make you a flower crown? He’s such a good mommy, isn’t he.” 

He rolled his eyes. Noodle chirped at Hilda, then roughly headbutted his cheek.

She giggled. “Aww, hear that Claude? She thinks you’re a great mommy!” To his surprise, she stood on her toes and plopped something on his head. “Now you two match!”

“Oh.” Looking up, he could barely see the tip of a sunflower. “Now I feel bad that I didn’t make you one.”

“I can’t believe you.” Hilda turned around, throwing up her hands. “You make a  _ pink _ garland with my favorite flowers, and you give it to Noodle. Never mind, you can make it up to me by giving your prince his garland. I want to be around to see it.” She proceeded to push him out of the greenhouse.

Claude didn’t even need to call out to Dimitri. Noodle did that for him, chirping her greeting across the courtyard.

Dimitri was talking with Dedue. He turned around, smile already on his lips. “Cla—aude?!” His eyes flew wide, mouth falling open. 

“Heya Your Princeliness! Guess what poor sucker got suckered into helping out Hilda? Me, I’m the poor sucker.” He hefted Noodle on his arm, showing her off. “So, how does my work look?”

Dimitri’s mouth wobbled into a flustered smile, his cheeks adorably pink. “You two make quite the match. You both look good.”

“Hilda forced me to make two, can you believe it? Here, why don’t you take Noodle for the evening.”

“Of course, I’m always happy to.” He smiled down at the small wyvern as she clambered onto his shoulders. “It’s so sweet of you to make her a garland.”

Claude used his distracted state to reach up and plop the garland onto Dimitri’s head. “And now you two match as well!” 

Dimitri’s blush brightened. “You made one for me too? I… thank you, Claude. I’ll cherish it.”

He waved a hand, mentally preening. “It’s just some flowers, no big deal. The daisies reminded me of you. Specifically, of chamomile, since chamomile is basically a type of daisy. And anemone are used in some calming tinctures, which is somewhat like chamomile, since chamomile helps you fall asleep. Plus, you’re a greatly calming presence! And, well, they’re a nice shade of blue. Lastly the forget-me-nots— that one’s obvious!” He winked. “You’re impossible to forget. And the general blue color-scheme speaks for itself.”  _ Oh no he’s rambling.  _   


“You put so much thought into this,” Dimitri whispered, his expression turning dangerously tender. “All for me?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “What’s that supposed to mean? Of course!”

“Noodle matches us so well,” he murmured. “Daisies for me, sunflowers for you, and anemones for both of us.” He reached over. Claude nearly died as Dimitri gently examined the garland on his head. “The yellow anemones suit you. And these green lilies look enchanting on you. The green against your eyes is truly stunning… Ah, and the sunflowers are so bright and cheerful. Just like you.”

_ Dammit. _ Here Claude was agonizing on how to be even slightly romantic, and Dimitri effortlessly renders him speechless. “Yeah,” he squeaked, “Hilda did a good job on it.”

“Want to ride?” Dimitri blurt. “With me, I mean.”

“Sure?” He wasn’t even sure what Dimitri meant, but he’d say yes to just about anything in his current state.

Dedue cleared his throat. Claude jumped, having forgotten about his presence.

“A-ah, after dinner, of course. Would you care to join me? Then, after we eat together, it’s a perfect evening to go riding, if you’d like. I’d like to. With you. But only if you’d like that!”

_ Riding! _ How did he not think of riding?! “That’s perfect!” He grinned, winking. “It’s a perfect night for stargazing too, if that’s your cup of tea.”

“Well, I can’t say I know too much about the stars. But that sounds lovely.”

_ You sound lovely. _ “Great! Why don’t you head to the dining hall, I’ll catch up in a few.”

Dimitri beamed at him. Noodle chirped at him as they left the courtyard. Claude collapsed against a wall.

“Oh  _ Claude, _ you’re so  _ bright  _ and _ cheerful _ and  _ beautiful, _ just like the flowers on your head.” Hilda laughed at him. “Saints. Dinner, a long ride, and then a night of stargazing. I was wrong about you being hopeless. Somehow between the two of you, you just blundered into the  _ most _ romantic date possible.” 

He choked out his own laughter. “Is this even a date? Maybe he just invited me out as a friend.”

“Aww, Claude.” Hilda patted him on the shoulder. “Claude, Claude, Claude. Sweet, sappy Claude.”

“Not a sap.”

“Innocent, naive little Claude. I watched your  _ whole _ interaction with Dimitri. I’ll let you in on something that apparently went over your head, because you can be a little oblivious sometimes.”

“Excuse me? I resent that.”

“Sorry, you’re right, I’ll correct myself. You can be  _ very _ oblivious sometimes. Listen to me: Dimitri looks at you like he wants to have many, many babies with you.” Claude sputtered, but Hilda kept going. “He looks at you like he wants to settle down and start a family with you. Like he wants to enable you by adopting the entire population of Fódlan's stray cats, just to make you smile. Like he wants to jointly file his taxes with you.”

“Gods Hilda, filing our  _ taxes _ together? He’s a prince. He doesn’t pay taxes, he gets  _ paid _ taxes. Also, that would be a nightmare between our two countries.”

“He looks at you like he wants to wake you up every morning with slightly-burnt eggs that you’ll love, because even though they’ll taste awful, they’ll be made with love. He looks at you like he wants to pick you up, never let you down, and elope with you. He looks at you like it’s his Goddess-given duty in life to stare longingly at you each and every single day. He looks at you like you’re the sun and he’s a man hellbent on burning out his retinas.”

“You done?”

“It’s  _ disgusting _ how head over heels he is for you. I’m not even counting the time he watched you train. He looked at you like you were a five-course meal and he was a starving dog! I think he was drooling!”

“You’re exaggerating. Come on, this is  _ Dimitri _ we’re talking about.” He ran a hand down his burning face. “If anyone could mean all those things innocently, it’s him.”

“He literally called your eyes  _ stunning. _ He couldn’t stop staring at you.”

“He looked at Noodle plenty.”

“Whatever. You’ll see what I mean later tonight. Am I the greatest wingwoman ever, or am I the  _ bestest _ wingwoman ever?”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Well? How’d it go? Did you two hold hands? Snuggle under the stars? Confess your everlasting love? Find a priest to get married?”

“What? No, none of that.”

“Did you at  _ least _ kiss?!”

“No…? Hilda, we went for a horse ride, and then watched the stars. That’s all.”

“Bwah, whuh,  _ that’s all?! _ What did you two  _ do _ all night?!”

“We talked.” He fiddled with his braid, smiling and looking to the side. “We watched the stars for a bit. Then talked about what we want for our future, and Fódlan’s future, and our dreams and ambitions. I mean, it’s not like we spilled our guts to each other, but…” He gave a happy sigh. “It was nice.”

Hilda chuckled. “That’s it?”

He snapped his fingers. “Oh! And the horses! Hah, they came and laid down on the blanket with us.”

_ “Claude von Riegan.” _

He gulped. “Dimitri picked some wildflowers and put them in my hair…?”

“I went through  _ all _ the effort to set you up.”

“Pretty sure you had nothing to do with our plans. I mean, aside from the garland, which I  _ do _ appreciate you suggesting, because—”

She placed her hand on his shoulder. And squeezed. _Hard._ “You had the _perfect_ chance. And you _wasted it!”_   


He threw up a hand. “What did you want me to do? Noodle was  _ right there! _ I can’t kiss Dimitri in front of our daughter!”

She grabbed his shoulders and shook him back and forth. “She’s a wyvern you dolt! A baby wyvern! She doesn’t care! You’re hopeless!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude, at the start of the chapter: Shh Hilda don't talk about my giant crush on Dimitri out loud! No one can know!  
> Claude, at the end of the chapter: *flirts with Dimitri right in front of Dedue's salad.*
> 
> Hilda: so that flower means *concept*  
> Claude: *lists off all the different poisons it can make* c:  
> Hilda:...   
> Claude: We're bonding! c:  
> Hilda: Here, have some mint and lavender.  
> Claude: What do these mean?  
> Hilda: Suspicion and distrust  
> Claude: :c
> 
> Y'all can pry my poison-nerd!Claude hc from my cold dead hands.
> 
> I know there are a couple of different pronunciations for Khalid. I'm using KHa-leed for this fic because, look, I gotta choose one of the pronunciations. To all the Ha-lids, Ha-leeds, Kha-lids, and other pronunciations out there: youse all valid.


	8. if i was in the sky i would simply not fall. rip to u but im different

Claude didn’t get excited over just anything. His cool laid back attitude was his image. Being excited was distracting, which wasn’t good for his overall survival. Nonetheless, recently he’d found more things to be excited over. Teach’s tactics lectures, Noodle’s milestones, Dimitri in general. 

None of that compared to his current carefully concealed excitement.

“It’s perfect for you. All I’m asking is that you try it once.”

“I already told you _no,_ Claude! Ugh, can’t you take a hint?”

He shook his head. “I don’t see why you’re so against the idea. You love Noodle, don’t you? Noodle loves her Aunt Hilda!”

“Noodle’s different. She’s _cute._ And, like, a baby. The adults are _so_ not cute.”

“Now that’s flat out untrue.” He gestured to one of the wyverns in the aerie. “How can you look at that face and _not_ see how much of a beauty she is?” Unfortunately, his hard work at converting Hilda to the ways of wyverns had a ways left to go. She was getting close to cracking, but wasn't there yet.

“Ugh, have fun picking out your big scaly beast. I’m going to go pick out a pegasus.”

“Are you going to ride Sugarcube?” The pegasus probably had a different name, but he didn’t know it. He’d taken to calling her Sugarcube, as he bribed her with sugarcubes. Hilda routinely dragged him to the stable with her whenever she had chores to do there. Because he was a good friend, he gravitated to taking care of Sugarcube for her. Taking care of feathers was nostalgic and easy, so he didn’t mind. 

She leveled a flat look that had him leaning back and toning down his grin a few notches. _Too excited._ “Fine, I’ll ride Sugarcube. Just for you.” She shrugged. “Not like I really have a preference.” She waved him goodbye as she left for the stables. “If you’re not at the training field in half an hour, I’ll assume you’re being sat on by a wyvern again! I’ll send Dimitri to save you.” He was never going to live that down, was he.

He counted it as a win that he convinced her to join him in Manuela’s flying seminar in the first place. _“Teach is trying to train you in heavy armor, aren’t they? Wyvern armor is a lot lighter. Plus, no need to walk anywhere when your mount can fly you places.”_ She might not be riding a wyvern (yet) but she was taking classes in flying with him now. The first step of his flawless plan was well in motion.

Between himself, Hilda, and Leonie, the Golden Deer had more fliers than the Black Eagles and Blue lions combined. The Blue Lions were stacking their cavalry, and the Black Eagles were doubling down on heavy armor— but everyone knew it was _air superiority_ that turned the tide of battles.

Claude chose an older lady to ride with. Hollyhock was her name. Younger female wyverns without clutches were recommended for beginner riders. Older females were feistier and harder to control (supposedly). They were also _faster._ He was anything _but_ a beginner. 

He was _dying_ to fly again.

Glancing at the stall that held the currently cowering wyvern alpha from before, Claude felt a bite to his pride. Flying and flying creatures were a source of pride for him— it was both humiliating and humbling to have been completely at the alpha’s mercy before. At least the wyvern left him alone now. All of the other wyverns treated him as a ‘claimed treasure’. The females didn’t treat him much differently, but the males all acted with degrees of submissiveness around him now (and around Dimitri a lot of submissiveness).

It was a feat of self-discipline that he didn’t fly himself to the training field. It took all of his restraint to not fling himself onto Hollyhock’s back and fly off into the sunset. He _ached_ for the skies. Unlike Almyra, Fódlan didn’t have much of a tradition of flying. He hadn’t been able to fly _at all_ since he got to Fódlan.

A year. He hadn’t flown in _over a year._ No wonder he was so jittery to fly. He’d never been grounded for such a long period in his entire life.

Meeting back up with the others at the training ground, Claude saw that they were sharing the general field with Hanneman’s cavalry seminar. He waved to Dimitri and Marianne. There was also Lorenz, Ferdinand, and Sylvain.

Hanneman and Manuela, to the surprise of no one, were caught up in the middle of an argument. Claude met up with Hilda and, after three seconds to consider it, they both (casually) meandered (quickly) over to Dimitri and Marianne.

“I see a certain someone’s training to be a real knight in shining armor, white horse and all.”

“Hello to you as well, Claude. I trust this wyvern won’t go claiming you?”

Claude laughed lightly, rolling his eyes. He wished everyone would forget that already. “Nah, Hollyhock’s a refined lady.” He patted under her chin. Usually she nuzzled his hand, but for once she made no effort to lean into his touch. He eyed her. “Feeling alright, girl?”

“Did you grab a sick wyvern or something?” Hilda asked.

He gave her a baleful eye. “Excuse you, I would have noticed if she was sick.”

Marianne came up to Hollyhock's other side. She patted the side of the wyvern’s face. Unlike with Claude, she eagerly nuzzled into Marianne’s hand.

“Pff, maybe you and Mari should trade. Looks like your wyvern likes her more than you!”

Dimitri walked over, peering at the wyvern. “I don’t know much, but she appears healthy— Oh!”

The wyvern lowered her head, shuffling away from them. She gave a chirp-like chuff. Claude groaned as he recognized the problem, slapping a hand over his face. “She’s trying to make sure a fight doesn’t break out.”

Dimitri frowned. “A fight?” He glanced back at his horse, tethered a fair distance away.

“Not with the horses. With _you._ All of the wyverns know about the tiff with the alpha— all wyverns are huge gossipers, I tell you. She’s trying to show you that she isn’t trying to challenge your claim on me.”

Hilda burst into laughter.

“Hah hah hah. Laugh it up. This might actually be an issue.” He rested his cheek on his palm. “She won't let me ride her, not with Dimitri within a few mile distance.” His stomach sank.

Dimitri flashed a look of guilt. “Claude, I am so sorry—”

“Nope, don’t apologize, this is in no way your fault.” He scratched his head, trying to think of a solution. He sighed, shrugging. “No wyvern riding for me today. Oh well.” He tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. He glanced at Sugarcube, who was tethered by Leonie and Ingrid’s pegasi. “Say Hilda, are you _sure_ you don’t want to ride a wyvern? This gal’ll be _very_ well behaved right now. No better chance to try it out.”

Hilda raised an eyebrow. “You’re suggesting we trade mounts.”

“Sure. Gotta say, I’m pretty curious about how different riding a pegasus is.”

“Claude, you can’t! No pegasus allows a man to ride her!”

“D-Dimitri is right, Claude.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not you two too. Look, I’ll be _fine._ A little superstition isn’t going to get me killed.”

“Superstition—!?”

“Tell you what, Claude,” Hilda interrupted, “if she lets you mount her saddle, we can swap. But you’ll owe me one.”

He grinned so hard his cheeks hurt. “It’s a deal!”

Dimitri clasped a hand on Claude’s shoulder, staring at him with those stupidly handsome blue eyes. “Claude, I cannot condone this. It is no simple superstition. I refuse to allow you to be hurt.”

He brushed Dimitri’s hand off of his shoulder. “Sugarcube won’t hurt me. She loves me! Right, Hilda?”

“Love might be a stretch, but she’s weirdly tolerant of you.”

“See? She’s weirdly tolerant of me! Watch, I’ll prove it.”

Manuela and Hanneman were _still_ arguing (and Lorenz, Sylvain, and Ferdinand appeared to be arguing as well now). At least Leonie and Ingrid were bonding.

Ingrid greeted Dimitri and the two childhood friends began a (in Claude’s opinion) stilted and awkward conversation. _Yeesh,_ he knew Ingrid was uptight, but he thought that she might loosen up a least a little around Dimitri. The opposite seemed to be true.

Hilda took Sugarcube’s reigns from Leonie, passing them off to Claude. “Whoa, Hilda, don’t do that!”

Hilda rolled her eyes at Leonie. “I already warned him, Dimitri warned him, even Marianne warned him. If he gets bucked, it’s his own fault.”

“I, Claude von Riegan, do declare that should I be bucked, trampled, or otherwise humiliated by this sweet pegasus, the only one to blame is myself.”

“I will not allow you to be trampled,” Dimitri growled. _Not now,_ Claude wanted to tell him. That growl was _very_ distracting. 

“What an arrogant thing to try.” Ingrid shook her head at him. 

“She’s a nice girl. Aren’t you, Sugarcube?” He patted her snout. She sniffed his hands, looking for the bribes he so often brought her. “You won’t buck me, nah, you like me too much.”

He glanced behind him and was injected with pure satisfaction at the multiple shocked faces. Only Hilda was unaffected. They shared an amused look.

“Alright, here goes! Just like getting on a horse, right?”

“More or less,” Leonie slowly stated. “Just be careful of her wings. Wow. You know, one of these days, I’ll stop being surprised when it comes to you.”

He winked. “That day’ll never come.” He stepped into the sturup, easing into her saddle. He patted her mane. She shook her head but otherwise made no negative movements. “Success!”

“Don’t see that every day…” Leonie murmured.

Dimitri shook his head, huffing a fond laugh. “You are incredible, Claude.”

Had it come from anyone that _wasn’t_ Claude’s current hormone-fueled crush, the statement wouldn’t have affected him at all. His stomach flipped. He flashed Dimitri a grin that was probably a touch too wide. “Oh, believe me Your Royalness, I’m aware. But thanks!”

“There’s no _way_ she’ll let you fly her,” Ingrid stated, her eyes still wide.

“Hey, Ingrid, we should totally race!”

_“Claude!”_ Dimitri’s voice was stern. “This is your first time on a pegasus. Do _not_ race!”

He winked, sticking his tongue out. “You can’t tell me what to do.” _Maybe_ he was excited. Giddy, even. 

“Alright class!” Manuela’s voice interrupted them. She clapped her hands together. “Mount up everyone. Dimitri, Marianne, you may return to Hanneman’s instruction.”

Despite being ‘finished’ with the argument, her and Hanneman bickered for a few more minutes. In that time, Claude instructed Hilda on how to properly mount Hollyhock. The wyvern was just as docile as he promised.

Manuela _finally_ finished her argument, turning back to them as she mounted her own pegasus. “Alright class. We will begin with a short session of free-flying to warm up. Afterwards, Ingrid, Leonie, and Hilda will fly in a triangular formation. Claude, as you are riding a wyvern, you will—” Manuela turned to Hilda and Hollyhock, pausing mid sentence. “Hilda? I thought you were riding a pegasus.”

She shrugged. “Well I was gonna, but I changed my mind.”

Manuela blinked. “I see. Where is Claude… then…” Manuela stared at Claude, her mouth falling open.

He wiggled his fingers in a wave. “Hi. We traded.”

As satisfying as Manuela’s disbelieving expression was, it held _nothing_ to the sheer bliss of flying. He didn’t bother smothering his joy, not when the winds swept away his whoops.

Riding on a pegasus was much different than he was used to. Smaller, faster, lighter. Sugarcube couldn’t quite compare to a wyvern, but he didn’t care because he was _flying._ There was no substitute for the freedom and safety of the sky. 

  
  
  
  


Hilda landed with a thump. Wyverns were _so_ not graceful. Noodle was adorable, _duh,_ but adults weren’t cute at all. Well… mostly. Okay, so maybe her current mount was kinda cute. Just a little bit though! She was starting to see why Claude liked them so much. 

“Wow, look at you hard workers!” she called out to the cavalry class. “Taking a break?” She waved at Marianne, who timidly waved back.

“Hilda? Why hello! Yes, we are allowing the horses rest. I see Claude convinced you to try wyvern riding.” Lorenz shook his head. “You mustn’t allow him to talk you into such things. I shall take it upon myself to give him a talking to on your behalf.”

Dimitri side-eyed Lorenz. “I do believe Hilda came to her choice of her own free will.”

“Do not allow Claude to deceive you. He is always scheming, always manipulating those around him. Indeed, Hilda, I do recall you leading a pegasus earlier. However did Claude swindle your pegasus away from you?”

Hilda held back a giggle at the offended look Dimitri directed at Lorenz. “You would do well not to speak so negatively of your house leader. He is a diligent worker and— well, perhaps not traditionally honorable, but he is a good man.” He turned to Hilda, giving her a much nicer smile. “I thank you again on his behalf. Though he has not said as such, I know he has been looking forward to this seminar. Your actions were very kind and thoughtful.”

Hilda blinked at the genuine complement directed at her. Perhaps the Prince was more observant than she realized. _She_ knew Claude had been internally vibrating with excitement, but she was his best friend. She twirled a strand of her hair. “Oh, stop it. You’ll make me blush.”

“Well look at you, Your Highness!” Sylvain walked over and elbowed Dimitri lightly in the side. “I’m proud of you! But here, I’ll show you how a real man does it.” He turned to Hilda and flashed a charming smile. “You’re pretty amazing Hilda. You're just as cute on a wyvern as you are on a pegasus. I’m not just saying that either. I doubt Ingrid would be able to pull it off, but wow, somehow you just make it work!”

“D’aww, thanks Sylvain! You look so gallant and strong on that horse.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “I’m not sure I’m cut out for this big ol’ wyvern though. She’s so heavy and bulky!”

“Nothing some diligent training will not fix!” Ferdinand declared. “I am certain you will become an excellent wyvern rider should you put your heart and mind to it!”

“Maybe for you, but I’m just not built for hard work.” She fluttered her lashes. “I’m very delicate.”

“Nonsense! You appear to be performing admirably thus far!”

Sylvain cleared his throat. “No one would dare force such a beautiful lady such as you to overexert yourself.”

“Hilda is very beautiful indeed,” Lorenz butted in, “but do not discount the strength of her mind and abilities. She is widely talented and comes from a most esteemed lineage.”

“How sweet of you to say about m—”

“Which is why, Hilda, that it is so dastardly of that delinquent Claude to force his own foolhardy ideas onto you. He is but an overconfident rube who thinks himself far smarter than he is.”

Her eyes darted to Dimitri. She watched his lips curl into a snarl for _just_ a moment before easing into a hard line. She felt a spark of satisfaction, knowing she didn’t need to defend Claude when Dimitri was about to do it for her.

“Despite your flowery words, you must hold your classmate Hilda in poor opinion. Do you hold so little respect for her as to believe she is too dull to think for herself?” Hilda blinked in surprise, not expecting Dimitri to defend _her._ “I may not know Hilda well, but even I can see she is far more than merely a pretty face. Beyond that, she is a loyal friend to Claude. You would do well to not insult him before her. Or myself, for that matter, as I also consider him a cherished friend.”

There was a beat of silence.

“U-um, I a-a-also don’t l-like hearing C-Claude i-insulted…” Marianne spoke up, half-way hiding behind her horse. “S-so please d-do not say mean things, Lorenz. Um. Please.” That shocked Hilda more than anything. Her voice was quiet and stuttering and she shook where she stood, but Marianne _stood up for someone._

Lorenz’s mouth hung open. Hilda could relate. “I… I see he has fooled you three with his—”

“No!”

Hilda nearly fell off her wyvern with shock.

“O-oh my, I’m s-s-so sorry, I d-didn’t mean to yell…! U-um, b-but, but, Claude i-is very k-kind. I think— Lorenz, I th-think it’s _you_ he fooled.”

Hilda gasped before breaking down with laughter. “Oh my gosh, you’re _totally right_ Marianne! He totally has!” She threw herself off her mount to drag Marianne into a hug. The poor girl looked moments away from bursting into tears. “Claude’s always trying to act so tough and manly, but deep down he’s a nice guy. Lorenz, you fell for his act! He has you duped!”

Red formed against Lorenz’s cheeks.

“Are you referring to the way he attempts to hide his acts of kindness?” Dimitri asked, looking every inch of innocent. “He does a very poor job of that. _I_ didn’t even fall for that, and I am aware I can be somewhat dense.”

Lorenz turned his nose. “Hmph! I have fallen for nothing! But I see my words of caution are not appreciated here.”

She saw Sylvain raise a hand to whisper in Dimitri’s ear. Judging by the wiggle of his eyebrows, it wasn’t hard to guess what he said. Dimitri replied by giving Sylvain a confused look. _Hopeless._

“U-um, H-Hilda, w-was Claude able to fly on S-Sugarcube?” She pulled back from Hilda, wobbling a cute little smile.

“Sugarcube…?” Lorenz murmured, still looking mulish.

“Oh, totally. He’s been pulling these crazy stunts in the air all day. It’s like he’s not afraid of falling in the slightest! Last I saw him he was having a blast. He challenged Leonie to a race. You _know_ how competitive she is, so of course they both zoomed off. And I don’t know what Claude said to get under her skin, but Ingrid raced after them both despite claiming a race was ‘childish and immature.’”

“That sounds like Ingrid.” Sylvain gave a sage nod.

“He truly must have natural talent for flying to do so admirably his first time on an unfamiliar steed,” Dimitri said with a disgustingly fond smile. _Ugh,_ those two were so hopeless. “Knowing Claude, I’m certain he is giving both of the ladies a tough challenge.”

“Ah, not to interject,” Ferdinand interjected, “but I fail to see how a race between a wyvern and two pegasi could be fair.”

“That’s because it isn’t.” Hilda patted her mount. “This is Claude’s wyvern. He’s riding Sugarcube. She likes him more than me anyways.”

“Is Sugarcube… not a wyvern?” Ferdinand asked.

She ignored Lorenz, Ferdinand, and Sylvain’s confused looks. “You know, I’ll never admit it to him, but to give Claude credit, he did kinda have a point about this sweet dear.” Hilda patted her mount again, scratching under her chin. “Ugh, he’d be unbearably smug if I told him. But _maybe_ I’ll try riding her again. We’ll see.”

Dimitri smiled. “Claude does have a way of being wise.”

“Told you I could do it! Look, no hands!”

They glanced up at the sky. Racing by were three pegasi sprinting at full speed. Claude, distantly visible, was standing in his stirrup. Both hands were raised in the air, his reins at his side.

“Half of the time,” Dimitri corrected himself, paling a few shades. “He is keen to ignore common sense the rest of the time.”

Hilda slapped her forehead. “That is one of the best summaries of Claude I have ever heard. He’s the most brilliant dumbass I’ve ever met.”

“He’s riding a _pegasus?!”_ Ferdinand gasped.

“That’s Claude for you. Unpredictable.”

“Oh shit!”

Hilda groaned, hopping back onto her wyvern. “Welp, I’m off to make sure an idiot doesn’t become Claude-paste on the ground.” Maybe dangling halfway out of his saddle would teach him some self-preservation. Judging by his laughter in the face of plummeting to his death, she doubted it.

  
  
  
  
  


* * *

_Damn my soft heart,_ he thought to himself. The two big eyes weren’t even _looking_ at him and he felt his resolve wavering. But he could _not_ reveal his weak spot like this.

There was a soft _mew_ from Star at his feet. The big eyes flickered down. Something in her expression eased, and Claude knew he had no choice. _Damn him and damn his soft heart._

He cleared his throat. “I guess I could do you this favor. Y’know, for a favor in return.”

Edelgard took a deep breath, her eyes tight. “Very well. Name your price.”

_Gods_ she looked awful. Thick bags under her eyes. She clutched herself, swallowed in her night clothes. He knew she would never admit it, but he was certain she just woke from a nightmare.

He could ask her for the Empire right then and there, and she looked willing to give it up. It must have been a _very_ bad nightmare for her to toss aside her pride (of which she had a lot of) to come to _Claude_ of all people for help. She no doubt assumed he would tease her, extort her, or involve her in a humiliating scheme. Yet she still came to him.

He should just give her the kittens permanently. He’d miss them, but he wasn’t too attached to them. Edelgard looked like she _really_ needed them. He _wanted_ to give her the kittens.

But it would be out of character for him to do that.

Claude von Riegan was a schemer. Everything he did had a purpose and a reason. He was cynical, tactical, and ruthless. Claude von Riegan did _not_ do charity. Except that he did. The Deer all knew he did. Dimitri knew he did. But Edelgard did _not,_ and unlike Dimitri, he could not allow her to know this weakness of his.

“How about you owe me. Nothing too extravagant— nothing involving stately matters. That wouldn’t be fair, now would it?” Claude winked. “If I need an alibi, or a diversion, or maybe a little intel… that sort of thing. Y’know, harmless school things. Sound like a fair trade?” Or… asking about what Hubert did when he snuck into town at night. He had enough tact not to ask _now_ though.

Edelgard closed her eyes, exhaling. Her exhale was shaky, he noted. _Gods_ he felt bad for not just giving her the kittens for the night. “Very well. I accept your terms.”

Claude was already scooping up the kittens. “Alright, here you are. Three squirming balls of fur.”

She blinked down at the kittens Claude deposited in her arms. “All three?”

“They’re a package. 3 for 1 deal. Quite the steal, no?” 

Star reached up on two paws, stretching to smash her little fuzzy skull into Edelgard’s chin. Edelgard bit her lips. Claude felt a bolt of panic. Edelgard looked seconds away from _crying._ She swallowed. “Y-yes. Thank you. Goodnight, Claude.”

“Yeah, night. Sweet dreams. And, hey”— he shouldn’t say this, he _was not_ a sap, no matter what Hilda said, he _wasn’t—_ “anytime. Seriously. _Anytime._ Consider it diplomacy for a better future between our nations.” It was for _diplomacy_ and for getting Edelgard in his debt. Nothing more.

Her arms shook with just the _slightest_ tremble as she held the kittens. “Goodnight,” she whispered.

Claude shut the door. He listened for her footsteps. He heard a sniffle down the hallway, but no tears, so he counted that as a win. He exhaled, slumping to the floor.

“That was kind of you,” Dimitri murmured.

“Bah! Ah, Gods, forgot you were there.” Claude clutched his chest. Dimitri (and Noodle, who was tucked against the crook of his neck,) peeked out from under Claude’s blankets. He hid there when Edelgard knocked on the door. Claude wasn’t sure why he scrambled to hide Dimitri, or why Dimitri scrambled to hide. They were only studying, after all. 

“I’ve never seen her so shaken…”

“You’d think between the three of us, _one_ of us would be good at sleeping, but apparently not.”

“She’s borrowed the kittens before.”

Claude winced. “Eugh, I mean, I kinda upset her. Probably shouldn’t say this, but I know you won’t use this maliciously— do _not_ show Edelgard a mouse. Freaks her out and not in a funny way.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And I mean, that wasn’t _my_ fault. She demanded I show her what was in my hands. I didn’t know she’d scream! So, yeah, I lent her the triplets for the night. Figured that way she wouldn’t kill me. Self-preservation.”

Dimitri's smile was _unbearably_ soft and gooey, and it _did_ things to Claude. “How kind of you.”

“Did you listen to anything I said? I’m just trying to maintain relations with the future Emperor of Adrestia. Nothing kind about it.”

Dimitri’s continued smile told Claude he didn’t buy the excuse. “Thank you, Claude.”

“Huh? Why’re you thanking me?”

“I appreciate what you did. You’re free to deny it, but the truth is that you are very kind-hearted.” 

“Welp, this is me, denying it.” Butter wandered over, staring up at him with begging eyes. Claude leaned over to scratch behind his ears. “This means nothing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd say it's not my intention to keep dunking on Lorenz, but he just makes it so easy. MVP goes to Marianne, who's doing her best! 
> 
> Claude's got no fear of falling. Maybe that's why he fell so hard for Dimitri ;)


	9. Snuggle-Nap Therapy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops! Angst! My bad!  
> Minor tw for this chapter: Panic attack, mentions of attempted drowning
> 
> On the HAPPY and AMAZING side of things: Fanart! AAA Thank you! :D [Noodle & Claude with flower crowns](https://twitter.com/midazomint/status/1295124078274240516) by Midazomint.

Never let it be said that Teach gave boring punishments. As a ‘Teamwork and Bonding Exercise’ as well as plain old ‘Exercise’ they were forgoing their usual drills for the day. As punishment.

Lorenz, being his usual self (an ass), managed to insult a local farmer, the farmer’s entire family and lineage, the farmer’s village, the farmer’s social class, _and_ the farmer’s livestock. _All in one conversation._ It was honestly impressive how insulting Lorenz managed to be, all without malicious intent. Leonie overheard him, prompting her to cause a scene. Through a series of unfortunate events, some property was destroyed. Those events spiraled to the point that a collection of farmers threatened to stop supplying Garreg Mach with their yield. _That_ got Teach in trouble. When the Golden Deer get _Teach_ in trouble, Teach gets the _Golden Deer_ in trouble. _Ergo:_ the Deer were _all_ in deep shit. 

As a gesture of good will (aka their punishment), the Golden Deer were performing free labor for the farmer that Lorenz insulted. Claude didn’t mind. It was a nice change of pace. Plus he got to laugh at Lorenz shoveling manure.

Unfortunately, Claude was also being laughed at.

_Cheep cheep cheep cheep cheep._

He left the chicken coop to the sound of cheeping and Leonie’s laughter. He left her laughter behind, but the cheeps followed him. She was laughing at him because every single chick in the coop decided to follow him. No amount of stern looks on his part managed to dissuade even a single chick from toddling after him.

_Cheep cheep cheep cheep cheep._

At least they were cute.

“No, let me carry that!”

“It’s fine! I can carry it!”

He halted his plan to hide behind a barn and play with the chicks. His duty as house leader took precedent. Rather, his duty to tease Lysithea took precedent. 

“I’m used to this sorta work! You aren’t! So I gotta carry it for ya!”

“I can carry it myself! You are _supposed_ to be _resting!”_

The argument paused as Claude (and his cheeping mini-army) approached. “Why…?” Cyril was cut off as Lysithea nudged his ribs, shaking her head.

Claude cleared his throat. “Cyril’s right Lysithea, you look like you’re about to collapse.” While she was distracted staring at the chicks, he leaned over and plucked the bucket from her hands. “Let the adults do the real work.”

“Argh, Claude!” She kicked his shin like the ungrateful child she was. “Give it back!”

“Sure!” Claude brought the bucket over his head. “I’ll give it back if you can reach.”

For a moment Claude thought she might actually leap at him. Fortunately she didn’t, because she probably would have spilled milk over the both of them. She muttered under her breath, probably cursing him. With his free hand he ruffled her hair. She glared before stomping away.

“Ya don’t gotta be so mean…” Cyril grumbled, glaring at him.

Claude gasped. “Are you upset at me? For how I treat Lysithea?” He ruffled Cyril’s hair this time. “Does someone have a crush?”

Cyril didn’t flush, sadly. He just rolled his eyes. “Course not. But it won’t kill ya to treat her with respect. She’s real smart. Lot smarter than you.”

“Claude! Get over here!”

Claude clucked his tongue. “You heard Hilda. I’m being summoned to the barn. We can have this conversation another time, any time. Your pal Claude’s always here to hear your troubles with your love life.”

“We’re going to the same place. You’re kinda dumb.”

Claude laughed. “Oh no! My poor ego!” They entered the barn. “Hilda, Cyril called me dumb! What’ll I do now?”

“He’s not wrong. You’re _so_ dumb.” Her eyes went to his feet. “Aw, did you make some new friends? You really are prime mama matierial. Is Noodle going to get some new siblings?”

“I have no idea what you’re referring to.” The constant _cheep cheep cheep_ might as well not exist for how much he was tuning it out.

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Get over here and help me.” He set his milk bucket down. There was a mutinous looking donkey at the end of a stall. “I can’t get him out! The hay needs to be changed, but the donkey won’t leave the barn like the other animals. Pleeease get him out for me?”

“Why is it that you always come to _me_ for this kind of thing?”

“So dumb,” Hilda whispered behind his back as he climbed over the gate. The cheeping was thankfully left on the other side of the stall.

“Claude, he’s gonna kick ya,” Cyril warned.

“Shh, don’t worry. Claude will be fine.”

“No, that donkey’s gonna… uh… nevermind…?”

“Hilda, you didn’t even try.” Claude easily hooked the lead around the donkey’s neck. It followed him around without complaint. The animal munched on his sleeve but was otherwise perfectly reasonable.

“Claude you are _so_ amazing. He needs to be groomed too. You like grooming horses, right? You’ve already got him all nice and—”

“Yes, just toss me the brush.”

“Aww, you’re the best!”

He caught the brush she chucked at him and began grooming the donkey. “Since I’m busy taking care of this fella, that means it’s up to you to help Cyril replace the hay in the other stalls.”

“I don’t need help!”

“Yeah Claude, he doesn’t need help!”

_“Ahem._ Cyril, if I turn around and find you carrying more than one bundle of hay, I’ll tattle to Teach and Manuela. _And_ Lysithea.” After a moment, there was a distinct _thump. Smart kid._ “And _Hilda,_ Cyril is on light duty, remember? Are you really going to risk setting back his recovery by allowing him to do _your_ work? Why, Teach might make you do all his work as punishment!”

“Ugh, shut _up,_ I’m doing it!”

Hilda and Cyril’s combined grumbling faded into the background noise of animals, cheeps, and bundles of hay being hauled into empty stalls. Other than occasionally glancing up to make sure Hilda wasn’t slacking too much, he let himself get lost in the rhythm of brushing.

“Ya want some milk, Khalid?”

“Mm, no thanks, I’m not thirsty.”

Hilda snorted. “Are you a cat now, Claude?”

“Huh?” He turned, cocking an eyebrow at her. “What’s that mea—” Standing up on two legs, there was a cat peering into the bucket, slowly lapping at the milk. It was a very familiar cat. _Khalid-the-cat._

Fear drenched every part of his body. It was so sudden and visceral that his legs felt ready to give out from under him. He felt the blood drain from his face as woozy fear left him lightheaded.

“Huh. _Khah-leed_ and _Cuh-laud._ They do sound kinda similar,” Cyril mused.

“Huh,” Claude parroted, desperately fighting to keep his expression neutral. He turned away to face the donkey. “Guess they do. Hard to hear in the barn, what with all the animals.” His heart hammered in his chest.

“Ugh, I _know,_ right? I can barely hear myself think over the cheeping.”

As if emboldened by Hilda, the chicks at the stall door rose sharply in volume. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Khalid-the-cat had nearly doubled in size by puffing up his fur. The donkey let go of his sleeve and nickered, bumping its head into his stomach. He stumbled back as the donkey advanced on him, then nearly tripped as Khalid-the-cat bolted over the stall door in order to twine between his legs.

“Hey, stop,” he muttered to the donkey. “What’s this about? Jeez.” Looking up, he took note of Hilda’s slight frown and how she stared at him _far_ too intently. Cyril was looking between him and the cat with visible confusion. _Damn, they don’t suspect, do they?_

His increasing panic was interrupted as an entire flock of crows flew through the window and swarmed him. The cacophony of cheeps were drowned out by a new cacophony of squawks. Between the birds and Cyril’s cat, he tripped and fell back-first into a heap of hay. Giving him no chance to recover, Khalid-the-cat leapt onto his chest, driving the breath from him. Immediately and violently Khalid-the-cat began kneading into his chest, purring uproariously. The birds settled all over him and the donkey laid down next to him. At least the donkey wasn’t laying _on_ him.

He stared up at the ceiling of the barn and wondered why life and the universe was the way it was.

He was joined by cheeps and chicks. Glancing at the stall door, he saw that Hilda held it open. She was biting her lip, failing to repress a grin at his pitiful state. The chicks enthusiastically snuggled up to him, their cheeps finally falling silent as they selected their favorite place to sleep on him.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Hilda just laughed at him.

He was forced to live Hilda’s wildest fantasy— slacking off while Cyril and Hilda did work around him. He wasn’t given a choice but to stay down.

Roughly twenty minutes later, the barn door creaked open before quickly slamming shut. Marianne timidly peeked her head around the corner. He greeted her, grateful that she wasn’t laughing at him.

Hilda lit up, abandoning the last bit of work to instead gush at Marianne. “It’s just the craziest thing! See, everything was normal and then Claude was—”

He cleared his throat. “Hilda, don’t make Cyril do _all_ of the work.”

She glared at him. Whether it was a _don’t-tell-me-to-work_ glare or a _don’t-interrupt-my-talk-with-Mari_ glare, he wasn’t sure.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Marianne murmured. “It’s just, um… I w-wanted to make sure no one was h-hurt.” She wrung her hands together. “I thought maybe something really bad happened…”

“Huh? No, we’re all fine. Did something happen outside?”

She refused to make eye contact. “J-just some upset animals. They were, um, very worried. The professor is having us all leave soon because the animals are too upset to work. They’re all very, um, spooked… they’re mostly calm now, but, um… still upset.”

“Did an explosion go off nearby or something? Or something loud? A misfired spell?” Claude asked. He eyed the animals that were _still_ glued to him. “That would explain a lot.”

Hilda snapped her fingers. “Oh yeah, that’d make sense! Heh, that must be why you were swarmed. You’re a _safe_ and _cuddly_ pal to all living things.”

He rolled his eyes. 

“I, um, don’t know…? M-maybe that’s what happened…?”

“We still gotta finish the barn. Not much left to do now.”

“Ugh, can’t we call it good here? You could stand to be less dedicated, Cyril!”

“I can do it by myself, ya don’t gotta do anything.”

Hilda opened her mouth to take him up on that. “I-it’s really nice of you to help Cyril out, Hilda…” Hilda’s jaw clamped shut. After a moment she nodded and wordlessly picked up her broom.

Marianne creeped over to him, kneeling down. “Do you need help…?”

He sighed. “Probably.” Marianne was weirdly good about getting animals to do what she wanted. He was envious of her talent.

She hesitated. “Are you i-injured, Claude?” she whispered, nearly silent. “Or, um, hurt at all?”

“No? A little bruised from falling over, but that’s nothing.”

“Oh. I-if you say so.” He narrowed his eyes. Marianne didn’t sound very convinced.

Through Marianne’s gentle coaxing, she freed him from the birds one by one. The chicks were more difficult, as some of them had made themselves comfortable by sneaking into his jacket. One particularly bold chick had snuck into his pants. Khalid-the-cat remained stubbornly latched onto him, still adamant that his chest was biscuit dough in _dire_ need of kneading. It wasn’t until Cyril finished his work and was able to help coax the cat away that Claude was fully freed.

“I’m totally telling the professor that I did your work,” Hilda muttered to him. “Now let’s get out of this stuffy barn.”

“O-oh, Hilda, wait!”

“Huh?” Hilda was already opening the barn door. “Wah!” She slammed the door shut, but not before Claude caught sight of the herd of farm animals positioned outside the barn. “Oh great! They’re all spooked so they want to get back into their safe barn! Ugh, let us _out_ first!” she shouted at the animals from behind the door.

Claude sighed. “Guess it’s out the window for us then.”

At least Hilda and Cyril seemed to have completely forgotten his slip-up. He needed to be more careful.  
  
  


* * *

Claude was very, very skilled at appearing outwardly at ease. There was a degree of truth to that mask— compared to a lot of his peers, he accepted life for what it was. Both the good and the bad. Life was worth having some fun! He pursued his dream and ambition with no expense spared, but he also knew that all work and no play paved the road to insanity. He was focused, but he took time to relax as well.

Unlike his peers, he rarely _fully_ relaxed. His peers didn’t need to be concerned with daggers in the dark or poison in their food. His peers didn’t need to worry about being knifed in their bed at night. Claude wasn’t foolish enough to think he was safe just because he wasn’t known as _Prince Khalid_ currently. 

Sometimes, though he would never admit it aloud, the paranoia got to him. It was exhausting constantly searching for the lie in the smiles around him, waiting for a strike that would never come in daylight. His life might be in danger when the class skirmished with bandits, but that was different. At least bandits were _honest_ about wanting to kill him. There was no need to wonder when an axe was aimed at his face.

He was assassination-attempt free for half a year now. Not the longest stint in his life, but it was enough to leave him _waiting._ He knew logically that there was no set time to be attacked. There was no _‘every three months’_ to worry about. Attempts could come three days in a row or span two years between them. But the disquiet was leaving him anxious.

It was annoying. He thought he’d grown out of this sort of mounting anticipation. It wasn’t just the waiting, though. 

Cyril was going to be the death of him.

Even since Cyril and _Khalid-the-cat_ entered the picture, Claude felt something worming through him. It was only now, sitting in a circle of Golden Deer enraptured by Cyril’s ‘exotic’ tales, that he was realizing that the duo were the source of his spike in paranoia. It wasn’t that he feared Cyril would attack him. He _did_ fear that Cyril might leak who Claude was by sheer accident, but that wasn’t what was plaguing him now. 

It was the old memories Cyril kept dragging to the surface.

Cyril was finding his place among the Golden Deer. Claude was _happy_ for him. He _was!_ The boy had a lot of freetime currently what with not being allowed to work much. The poor kid didn’t know what to do with himself without his work. The Deer picked up on his aimlessness and involved him. It was heartwarming. It was also stressful, because sometimes those classmates began asking _questions._ Or asking for _stories._ And the stories that the Golden Deer found most interesting were the tall tales of _The Evil and Horribly Horrible Demon-Prince Khalid._

Claude knew he had a reputation. It was half accident, half on purpose. If people feared attacking him— that was good. If people thought he spat poison potent enough to melt through metal, they might be deterred from attacking him.

Some of the stories were funny. Downright hilarious! Somehow, the time when he’d been five and smuggled a coyote pup into his room was morphed into the tale of how _Prince Khalid consulted with evil magics to summon a demonic wolf to do his bidding._ The most ‘demonic’ thing that pup ever did was gnaw on an expensive tapestry! 

Most of the stories were flat out ridiculous. Like how _Prince Khalid once ate the heart of a man who offended his mother._ He had no idea where that story was pulling from. His mother was more than capable of defending her own honor. It was somewhat funny how the time a toy of his had been wired to explode twisted into the time _Prince Khalid threw a tantrum so potent he blew up his toy._ Or the tale of how _Prince Khalid entranced and charmed innocent animals around him to sacrifice in his evil rituals._ Utterly ridiculous. Or descriptions about how _Prince Khalid’s skin is so pale and emaciated that he looks like a ghoul._ That was just plain ironic considering _‘pale’_ was the _last_ thing his Fódlan classmates would describe him as.

The small silver lining was that Cyril adamantly reiterated that he had no idea if any of the stories were true or not. Despite that, the Golden Deer were coming to hold a very warped mythos of _Prince Khalid._

Of course Claude did his best to silence Cyril. But it wasn’t like he could just tell him to stop. If he let it be obvious that he didn’t want Cyril telling the popular _Prince Khalid_ stories, the Golden Deer would start to wonder _why._ So he did his best to sow the seed that Cyril’s fabled _Prince Khalid_ was a made up myth. He was decently successful to the point where even Cyril outwardly wondered if he was real.

“I think this one's real. The guy who told this one used to be a palace guard.” Cyril’s ‘former palace guard’ was the source for most of his Prince Khalid stories. A palace guard would have had to have _really_ screwed up to be sent to the border. Judging by the negative light cast by the stories, it was no stretch to guess what the man did to lose his highly respected job. “He said he met the prince a few times. He tried to extend a kind hand once, but the prince hissed at him. Which cursed him. For a whole month, everything he ate made him sick.”

That was one of Claude’s common tricks. The poison only lasted for a week at most. _And_ Claude only ever did that sort of thing to people that threatened him, usually repeat offenders. If he had to guess, Cyril’s palace guard friend was the man that would ‘jokingly’ brandish his sword at Claude, claim him to be a ‘Fódlandi infiltrator’ and attempt to stab him. The few times Claude hadn’t been quick enough to dodge, the man only ‘nicked’ him. Sometimes deeply enough to scar. It wasn’t until the man was caught complicite in a kidnapping attempt that he was sent away.

“He said that one time they tried to, um, ‘purify’ the prince. I think that’s the right translation… The prince got dipped into holy water. The prince screeched like a bird. He was really loud. It echoed across the entire capital city. A demon flew out of the prince and it attacked the royal family.”

Every muscle in his body tensed. That was the time his half-brothers tried to _drown him._ If it hadn’t been for Ama keeping an eye on him, he would have—

“Do you guys even have holy water in Almyra?” Leonie asked thoughtfully. “Almyrans don’t worship the Goddess.”

_‘Guess that rules out that story as false,’_ Claude should say. _‘That palace guard must have been a liar,’_ he should say.

“Maybe ‘holy’ water isn’t the best translation…” Cyril fidgeted.

“Can you describe it, then?” Ignatz asked, leaning forward. “I’m curious.” Ignatz was too curious for his own good. Claude _should_ appreciate the genuine enthusiasm Ignatz displayed over learning about Almyran culture. It was difficult to appreciate him when everything he was curious about was tangentially related to stories about Claude.

“Er, I guess? Water and fire are used lots in rituals. I dunno know many details.” Cyril shrugged.

“That’s fascinating! Fire you say? Water is often considered a purifying or healing element in Fódlan tradition, but— O-oh, sorry, I got a bit too excited…”

“So holy water for Almyrans is, what, boiling water?” Leonie laughed. “It sure is practical! And hey, boiling water is used to clean a lot of things, so I guess I get why that could be ‘cleansing.’”

“It’s not just _any_ boiling water,” Cyril snapped. “A priest’s gotta prepare it, and they chant a bunch of words and stuff… I dunno. It’s special.”

“I’d probably scream too if I got dunked into boiling water,” Raphael said, frowning.

_There was nothing ‘holy’ about the freezing pond water they tried to drown him in._

He pulled at his collar. He hadn’t thought about that incident in years. Being held down… forced into the water… unable to breathe… He still remembered their laughter. It was so loud above the water, but when he was held beneath their cackles warped and twisted into something inhuman. He’d forgotten. He wished he hadn’t remembered it in the first place.

Vish nipped his wrist. The pain brought the present rushing back into him. His eyes darted to the Golden Deer. They were all engrossed in Cyril’s story (except for Marianne, who was engrossed in the cat). No one seemed to notice that he was having difficulty pulling in a deep breath.

But then _Khalid-the-cat_ turned his head to look at Claude. And started to move towards him. Which would bring Marianne’s attention onto him. He couldn’t allow that.

He ducked out of the garden. He knew he _should_ stay and do his best to run damage control over Cyril’s mouth. But he just— couldn’t.

Nothing had changed, but every alleyway screamed at his as a threat. Every person he crossed hissed danger. His skin hummed with anticipation, his blood roaring in his ears. The primal call of _danger, danger, danger_ repeated itself in his skull. He couldn’t seem to breathe. 

It was getting out of hand. He’d _known_ things were getting out of hand for a while now. The fact that he’d given into his desire to tuck Vish around his wrist was a blaring sign of that. She always brought him a sense of safety. But he hadn’t toted her around like some sort of hidden Nader-bear safety-bracelet since he was a kid. 

He didn’t stop to greet the cats and dogs that tried to greet him. He shook off the birds that wanted to sit on him. They _knew_ he didn’t greet them when other people could see, so he didn’t know why they even bothered today.

He ducked through the marketsquare as fast as possible, keeping his face blank as the throngs of people choked him further. Desperation crawled under his skin to get _out_ before he passed out from lack of air. It was only the feeling of Vish’s familiar scales around his wrist that kept him grounded.

He left the monastery and sped towards the forest. Another old coping mechanism, though not one he’d ever outgrown. As dangerous as _people_ could be, animals never hurt him. Best of all, they were excellent at alerting him when people came near.

By the time he made it to the safe cover of the forest, he was gasping for breath. _Running_ half the way might have been foolish when he was already so lightheaded, but the thrum of _danger_ was a persistent shadow. He slumped against a tree, bringing his hands against his face. _Calm breath, steady breath,_ he repeated to himself as he went through a meditative exercise. Slowly his ragged pants eased into a steady rhythm.

It wasn’t long before a gaggle of animals decided to join him. He let out a sigh of relief. If someone had followed him into the woods, the animals would alert him. If someone tried to attack him, they would protect him.

A deer settled by his side. He scratched under its ears. It was one he recognized as a frequent nap buddy of his. He frowned, remembering the time Hilda and Marianne managed to sneak up on him. None of the deer had woken him then.

Vish slithered out of his sleeve and coiled loosely around his neck. _If the deer wouldn’t warn him, Vish would._

The deer was the first but by far not the last. He smiled at the animals that joined him. Birds, rabbits, foxes, grouse, hedgehogs, squirrels, and all sorts of creatures apparently decided he was prime real estate. More than usual, but then again, this forest was much more populated with woodland creatures than his childhood haunts had ever been. Fódlan’s forests _teemed_ with life.

The tension eased out of him. He would have to go back to the monastery before nightfall, but for now he could rest. For now he was _safe._ He eased himself onto the ground, laying down and staring up at the flickers of sunlight peeking through the treetops.

_Damn,_ he needed to get a handle on this Cyril problem. All of his stories were far from the truth, but some held too much truth. That and Claude flat out didn’t _want_ to think about a lot of those things. Again and again Cyril kept dragging out old wounds he'd left in the past. His childhood wasn’t _only_ assassination attempts and fear, but when Cyril kept spinning yarns about only the bad things… 

He had just as many happy memories as bad. More happy than bad, realistically. It was just that the bad seemed to stick in his head. There were only a dozen or two _actual_ attempts on his life. Most things were just insults or exclusion. Edelgard and Dimitri probably had a lot of attempts on their life growing up too. They turned out fine. Not a paranoid wreck like him… 

“Oof.” A bear cub clambered onto his stomach, dislodging a grouse and rabbit. The cub’s mother mosied over as well, laying down by his head. “Heh, is the whole forest in need of a nap today?” He lifted his head a bit to use the soft bear as a pillow.

Now that he said it out loud… huh, there were a _lot_ of animals around. Weird. And, he realized, they were still coming. A couple of snakes, a wolf, mice, another wolf, a full wolf pack, another snake, rabbits, more deer—

He wheezed. “Hey now! I’m not, _oof,_ a bed to sleep on.” Yeesh, the last time he’d had this many animals on him at once was when he’d been dug out of a collapsed cave. He shuffled the bear cub off of him in an attempt to not be crushed to death, though a few more (thankfully lighter) animals just took its place. The bear cub flopped over his arm, rendering that limb useless. 

The smaller animals rested on top of him while the larger ones crowded around him. Whether the animals would warn him about an incoming stranger or not didn’t matter when they surrounded him so thoroughly. 

He stared in amazement at the living blanket of fur and feathers on top of him. _Was this normal? This couldn’t be normal._

Gods. Fódlan seriously had a surplus of wildlife compared to his home. The difference between _‘temperate forest’_ to _‘rocky mountains and desert’_ as well as _‘middle of nowhere’_ to ‘ _bustling capital city’_ was mind blowing.

A deer leaned over to lick under his chin, prompting him to laugh. A wolf followed example, and he was fighting to breathe as a handful of animals decided that tickling him was their Sacred Duty entrusted by the Gods Themselves.

They were relentless. He had no choice but to give into peels of helpless giggles. He patted at a furry face— the bear’s, probably. “Okay! Hah, I give! You, haha, you win!”

The bear leaned over and began licking his hair. He hated to admit it but as gross as it was, the rhythmatic, nostalgic grooming immediately made him drowsy. Within moments his eyelids drooped. His mini-mountain of nap buddies all seemed to take this as a signal, half of them nuzzling whichever part of him they could reach, the other half tucking in to sleep.

It would be a lie to say he lasted much longer himself.


	10. Unequipable Animal Battalion

Animals enjoy being around him. He knew this. Animals like _all_ people when they’re calm and quiet. He was aware of this and used it to his advantage plenty growing up. It was stupid easy to gain an animal’s trust (yet somehow so many managed to fail that easy requirement). It was a fact of life: animals like being around people. Animals like to snuggle with people. Animals are friendly.

But he was starting to think that maybe, just maybe, someone smeared honey on him or something. He _thought_ there seemed to be more animals dogging his steps ever since his little panic attack in the forest. Now though… 

“What the hell? Claude, can you even breathe?”

“I’m fine,” he wheezed. Given that a family of Gronder foxes claimed his chest as their new nest, maybe that was to be expected. And the collection of rabbits sleeping on his stomach. And the badger sprawled out over his neck. And the other badgers snoozing on his arms. There was also something fuzzy inside his sleeve.

“Um, do ya need some help…?” Cyril asked.

“Nope.” _Gods,_ Cyril _better_ not have a story about how _‘Prince Khalid never had friends and spent all his time with a bunch of animals.’_ One of the foxes yawned, stretching out and pawing at his chin. It was downright adorable, but he remained strong. Plus, his arms were trapped, so it wasn’t like he could pet the fox if he wanted to. Which he didn’t. Even though it was very cute.

“We march in 20, Claude.” Teach warned.

“I’ll be ready,” he promised. _Somehow._

Leonie side-eyed him, crouching next to his bedroll. She very slowly reached out to pat one of the foxes. The fox allowed her (of course it did, she was being calm and quiet, that was _all a person needed to do_ and people _still_ screwed it up). “Is it just me, or have there been more animals around you recently?”

“No idea what you’re talking about.”

“Right, of course not.”

He frowned. What was _that_ supposed to mean?

“So,” Hilda sauntered over to him, looking oddly smug, “does this sort of thing always happen when you travel?” She gestured to the animals.

“This isn’t the first time we’ve gone traveling as a class, Hilda. Of course this doesn’t happen all the time.” Only every so often, and rarely this many. _Never_ when there were so many people around. “It’s somewhat… odd.” As odd as it was, he was silently grateful. He’d been having a lot of nightmares recently. With at least a few critters on him, he slept much better.

Leonie and Hilda exchanged a look. He narrowed his eyes. _What was he missing?_ His thoughts were interrupted as the badger along his neck rolled onto its side and began pawing at his face.

“So you admit that this is strange, right?”

He sighed. “I guess? I don’t _usually_ wake up with,” he paused to count, “fourteen critters on me.” Fifteen including whatever was inside his sleeve.

Hilda snorted. “Yeah, usually only six or seven.”

“Exactly.” A perfectly normal amount. Why was it only ever _him_ that had to deal with this sort of problem? One of these days _Hilda_ would be the one buried in animals and _he_ would be the smug one!

Marianne inched over to pet the critters as well. The little smile she so rarely showed took Hilda’s attention away from him. _Bless Marianne,_ she began helping to slowly free him. Unfortunately for him, the animals were unusually stubborn about sticking to him. Which was saying something given how stubbornly animals already usually were.

“Cyril! Just let me help already!”

Across camp, Cyril was busy being a busybody. Lysithea was by his side attempting to keep up. Claude genuinely liked the hard-working kid. Watching the Golden Deer accept him into the fold (despite the few hiccups) was the sort of thing he dreamed of on a large scale. But just hearing Cyril was enough to curl dread in his stomach.

Ignatz was genuinely interested in Almyra— not just because it was ‘exotic’. Leonie and Raphael were curious too and surprisingly accepting. Lysithea eagerly questioned Cyril about anything and everything when she took breaks from studying. 

It made Claude want to chime in too. He wanted to tell Ignatz about the rolling plains and towering mountains and shimmering deserts. He wanted to tell Rapphael about the incredible feasts, about how they put Fódlan’s best to shame. He wanted to tell Leonie that her blunt, practical, and strong personality would have her fitting in perfectly. He ached to share his home with them.

He ached to tell them that Almyra wasn’t all bad.

Almyra wasn’t _just_ stories of attempts to kill a child, of an evil prince, of border skirmishes, of misery. Almyra wasn’t just the colorless, grey, despised landscape of a conscripted war orphan. The picture Cyril was painting in the minds of the Deer was a biased one. Of course it was. Claude’s own image of his home was biased as well. 

He was _tired_ of sitting back and listening to Cyril only tell one side of the story. Cyril wasn’t _wrong_ about Almyra; there were issues. There were a lot of issues, ones Claude hadn’t even been aware of. Claude was _intimately aware_ his home was _far_ from perfect!

But as much as Almyra didn’t love him, he loved his home.

_“There’s nothing worth talking about Almyra!”_ Cyril had shouted once, after a long bout of curious prodding. _“I hated it there! There’s nothing good about it!”_ Really, the kid only ever told _Prince Khalid_ stories.

“Ya don’t need to help me, I got it. I’m used to this kinda work. We’ve gotta walk a lot today, so don’t tire yourself out.”

“Here, let me help!” Raphael boomed. “Don’t want you tiring yourself out either!”

“Hey! Stop that, I can do it myself!”

“I know you can. But you don’t need to, y’know? So let me help you out! That’s what friends are for.”

Claude watched out of the corner of his eye as Cyril stopped arguing, instead looking at his shoes. “We’re… friends?”

“Of course we are, buddy!”

Cyril fidgeted. “I just, never had a friend before.”

“Hey!” Lysithea shouted. _“We’re_ friends too!”

“H-huh?” He dropped his load. “Gah!”

“So clumsy,” Lysithea murmured, bending down to help Cyril clean up.

“I told ya I don’t need help! I’m the one that dropped this.”

“And we told you,” Raphael insisted, also helping clean up, “that friends help friends.”

Ignatz scurried over and began picking up the spilled things as well. “I also consider you my friend, Cyril. Ah, it’s okay if you don’t think of me as a friend back, though. I understand.”

“Poor Cyril,” Leonie murmured. “It’s a bit hard to watch sometimes. ‘Never had a friend?’ Poor kid. As rough as he has it here, I’m glad he managed to escape Almyra.”

“You know he doesn’t appreciate pity,” Claude replied. “Pretty sure he didn’t ‘escape’ Almyra. He was captured.” By the Gonerils.

“Good thing!” Hilda was apparently still paying attention to things that weren’t meek and blue-haired. “He’s adjusted to life in Fódlan so well. I’m glad my family took him in. He’s nothing like the rest of Almyra.”

Claude kept his jaw clamped shut, grinning his usual grin despite his lack of desire to do so. _‘Your family enslaves Almyran children,’_ he wanted to say. _‘Cyril is still terrified to be alone with you. Haven’t you ever wondered_ why _he’s afraid of you if your family treated him so benevolently?’_

_‘Almyra isn’t any more or less evil than Fódlan is.’_

But he can’t say that, so he says nothing. He wondered, not for the first time, if he was a fool for daring to dream at all. At this rate through Cyril the Deer would only grow to hate Almyra. And if they ever found out his true identity, they would despise him too. Seek to kill him, probably.

Out of nowhere, the animals on top of him jolted. One of the badgers tried to climb onto his face. The foxes weaseled themselves closer to him. The handful of rabbits that Marianne had coaxed off of him zipped right back onto his stomach. The critter in his jacket (probably a mouse?) burrowed itself further up his sleeve. All the progress Marianne made was wrecked in an instant.

To Teach’s ire, it took him more than 20 minutes to get ready.

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Young Dimitri? Are you still with us?”

“Yes professor Hanneman. My apologies.” Dimitri did his best to pay attention to Hanneman’s lecture, but he was finding it difficult to focus. His mind was determined to slip back to his plans for the rest of the day. The Golden Deer were out for the week. Much to Dimitri’s surprise, Claude entrusted the care of his animals to him. He was determined to live up to that trust.

To say he was nervous was something of an understatement.

Dimitri was a decently skilled hand when it came to taking care of horses. For any other animal he held no confidence in his skills. He feared crushing Claude’s kittens. They were so small and delicate. Yet it would be unfair to lock them away for a week with no attention. He needed to visit them in Claude’s absence. Which was terrifying.

There was Noodle as well. Such a silly name for a wyvern… Goddess above, Dimitri had only known Noodle for a scant month, but if anything happened to the small creature, he didn’t know _what_ he would do. She had wormed herself into his heart, living up to the ‘noodle’ of her name. Between her and Claude, Dimitri’s past few weeks might very well have been the happiest weeks in… in a very long time.

Claude was a distraction. Dimitri was aware of this. He needed to seek justice for the innocent people slaughtered during the Tragedy. _Claude was a distraction._ His ghosts labeled Claude as a ‘tempter’ or a ‘siren’ or all manner of awful things. Claude did have something of a magnetic pull on him, what with his incredible smile, his easy going manners, his oh so kind heart. He didn’t treat Dimitri as Prince Dimitri, but rather as _just Dimitri._ As a _person._ That didn’t even touch on the gleam of his emerald eyes, the way sunlight glimmered against his tanned skin, his enticing fluffy hair, the sway of his hips as he walked, the _dratted_ way his braid never failed to steal Dimitri’s attention… Dear Goddess help him, but Claude was breathtaking with flowers peppering in his hair. Noodle was developing a habit of tucking flowers into Claude's hair (a habit he was admittedly doing everything in his power to encourage) and with every little blossom and every sly grin Dimitri found his restraint slipping. Claude was just _so—_

He dug his fingers into his thigh. _Focus._ He needed to focus on Hanneman’s lecture. How Claude could manage to find the center of Dimitri’s attention while not even within the monastery walls was just one more accolade to heap at his feet.

Hanneman paused his lecture mid-sentence, mouth still open and finger poised. The reason for stopping was apparent as soon as Dimitri took the time to listen: there was something scratching at the door.

Hanneman frowned. “What in the blazes… Is that a cat?”

Ashe gasped. “Oh! Maybe we should take a look, professor?” He vibrated with excitement.

Hanneman sighed, pinching his brow. “I will reiterate that feeding the cats around the monastery is frowned upon. It leads to situations such as this, in which the pesky felines grow bold enough to disrupt important work.”

Ashe hunched his shoulders, his expression of guilt a clear admission of his actions. “But they always look so hungry…”

There was still scratching at the door. If anything, it was louder now than before. “They will not starve, young Ashe. Now, let us deal with this bothersome little pest.” Hanneman strode towards the door.

The door barely even cracked open before a white flash darted between Hanneman’s legs, prompting a shout from the old man. Dimitri sucked in a breath. Moments later, his lap was full of Noodle.

The little wyvern cried, pressing herself up against him. She clung to his uniform like her life depended on it. She bit into his tunic and tugged, unable to bite through the tougher material.

Dimitri settled his hand along her head. “Apologies, Professor Hanneman. She is very fond of Claude, and I suppose she is distressed with his current absence.”

“She seems real fond of _you_ too.” Sylvain gawked at him.

Dimitri smiled down at the still-whimpering wyvern. “Yes, she’s quite the spirited little thing.” He cleared his throat as he realized all eyes were on him. This wasn’t the first time he had come to class with Noodle, nor was it the first time she was openly affectionate with him. But she was always well behaved in class, never so demanding or expressive. Her whimpers were a clear sign that she would not behave today. “May I please be excused to deal with her, professor?”

Hanneman’s eyebrows were still at his hairline. “Yes, you are excused. My, I’ve never seen such behavior from a wyvern!”

Dimitri ducked out of the classroom. To his surprise, Noodle leapt from his arms and began biting at his pant leg. She tugged at him with all of her tiny might, so he took a step forward. She bounded ahead, turning to make sure he was following.

She didn’t lead him far. She bumped her head against the Golden Deer’s classroom door, crying.

He knelt down, stroking her head. “Claude is not here. He will return in a week.”

She ignored him, scratching at the wood and crying. It was a heartbreaking noise. He opened the classroom door, and for a moment Noodle chirped excitedly. Then she dashed into the empty classroom. She looked around, slowly deflating. She gave a long coo, nosing around Claude’s desk. She scrambled on top of the desk, held her head high, and began yowling at the ceiling.

“Shh, shh, no need for that,” Dimitri scooped her up, doing his best to soothe her. Unfortunately, he wasn’t Claude. He bounced her up and down a bit, stroking her back as he desperately tried to remember how one was supposed to calm an infant. Noodle clung to him, her yowl quieting to a whimper. “Shh, I know, I know. I miss him too. Claude will return, you must be patient.”

Unfortunately, Noodle didn’t understand his words. She continued to burble against his tunic, distressed beyond anything he’d seen from her. There was no way he could drop her off in Claude’s room as he intended. Emotionally or physically. He _could_ pry her off of his uniform, but not without the possibility of hurting her. And leaving her alone to cry might very well be the straw to break him completely.

“Oh, what am I to do with you…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri: I must focus on revenge. Claude is a distraction. He has distracting eyes, and a distracting face, and *proceeds to distract himself thinking about Claude*
> 
> Dimitri: I said I didn't know what I'd do if something happened to Noodle.  
> Dimitri: I lied.  
> Dimitri: If anything happened to Noodle I would kill every last one of them and then myself
> 
> As soon as the deer figure out that Claude being distressed = more animals, there's gonna be a lot of questions... Hope y'all like Dimitri's pov, there'll be a more from him in the coming chapters ;)
> 
> Next chapter: Claude? Talking about himself?? Unloading some angst??? Being swarmed and loved as a result???? More likely than you may think. And Dimitri is Doing His Best.


	11. The Princess and the *checks script* ...screaming?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops more past trauma

“This is _so_ stupid,” Hilda whined, slamming her axe into a bandit’s skull. “I don’t wanna be on the front lines!”

“Hey, at least you have an axe,” Claude chirped from a few paces behind her. “I only have my bow! Y’know, a long ranged weapon… supposed to be used from a distance…”

“Don’t complain to me, I’m not the one that told you to be here.” An arrow bloomed in the eye socket of a nearby bandit. “Careful! Ugh, I almost got blood all over me!”

“I think you mean ‘you’re welcome’. Unless you’d prefer I go somewhere else?”

“Just shut up and keep shooting.”

The battle faded into a monotonous haze of killing bandits. She just wanted to be _done_ with the fighting already!

She smashed the head of the last bandit. “Hilda! Hilda! Hilda! Did you see that Cla—ude?” Looking behind her, Claude was gone. Glancing at the corpses at her feet, plenty had arrows in them.

“Eye on the fighting!” She heard Claude call to her from a distance. Squinting, she saw him standing a ways back from her. _Oops, she left him behind._ He waved, pointing. Turning to where he pointed, she hissed an unlady-like curse under her breath. There were still two bandits left. Probably the leaders, given they were better equipped than their dying underlings, and were also on horse. _And were riding straight for her._

Raising her axe, she prepared to parry the oncoming lances. Getting hit by one of them at full speed would really hurt. Luckily for her, they didn’t even get within striking distance. They peeled by her, racing off behind her. Her moment of relief was undercut as she remembered _Claude was behind her._

“Claude!” She shouted, racing towards him even though it was pointless. It wasn’t like she could outrun a horse, but what was her other option?

She wasn’t the only one to shout his name. Most of the bandits were dead or routed. The Golden Deer were just finishing off the stragglers— which gave each and every one of them the opportunity to helplessly watch the two cavalry hone in on Claude.

No one was close enough to help him. One of his arrows whiffed, his second arrow pinging off armor. She watched him nock a third arrow, but by then the horses were on top of him.

One of the bandits bellowed a laugh as he lined up his lance with Claude’s body, horse galloping at full speed. She screamed, unable to look away from her best friend being skewered.

Except he didn’t get skewered. At the last moment, the horse swerved. The bandit spat curses as the horse rose up onto two legs, neighing wildly. Then he went silent as Claude’s arrow split his throat.

The second man on a horse shouted as he rounded on Claude. Hilda nearly dropped her axe in shock as again miracle struck: upon getting close to Claude, the horse went haywire. Bucking madly, it threw off its rider. Stunned on the ground, the bandit was defenseless as Claude’s arrow took his life too.

The relief was enough to turn her knees to jelly. When all the bandits were finally dead, she squeezed Claude in a tight hug. She wasn’t the only one to do that. The entire class circled him when it was all over.

“Good thing bandits don’t know anything about disciplining their horses!” Claude laughed.

Hilda’s happy relief was stopped short by Claude’s declaration. There was a beat of silence as everyone processed his excuse.

“Claude… that’s not what happened,” Lorenz slowly stated.

Claude rolled his eyes. “Oh? Did I just imagine two unruly horses disobeying their riders, then? You're right! I’m actually dead right now, my bad.” He cocked his head to the side, stuck out his tongue, and squeezed his eyes shut. “Bleh! I’m a ghost now. Better watch out Lysithea!”

He laughed at Lysithea’s squawk of outrage.

The two horses circled him, whinnying into his hands for pets. He tutted, reaching into a pocket and pulling out two sugarcubes. The two horses eagerly lapped up his treat, but overall seemed much more interested in seeking his affection. He tisked, shaking his head. “Hey Teach! Think the monastery’ll accept these two?”

“Marianne,” the professor called, “come help me determine whether the horses should be released or not. Claude, bring the horses over here.”

“Holy shit,” Leonie whispered as soon as he was out of earshot.

“Language,” Lorenz halfheartedly scolded.

Hilda shook her head. “I’m with Leonie on this one. Holy shit.”

“He’s immune to cavalry.” Lysithea frowned at his retreating back. “Fliers too, considering his affinity for both wyvern and pegasi alike. Does he have some form of magical charm that prevents animals from attacking him? An enchantment? I’ve never heard about such a thing, but that… that wasn’t natural.”

Leonie shook her head, expression still dumbstruck. “This isn’t just some animal friendliness. This is insane.”

“He’s clueless. How is he so clueless?” Hilda didn’t understand how someone could be as smart as Claude yet so _stupid._ “Should we tell him? If he hasn’t figured it out by now, he never will.”

“We really should,” Ignatz said. “It was one thing to allow him ignorance with monastery cats and birds, but this…”

“Who wants to break it to him? Not it! Convincing him is going to be _so_ much work.”

In the end, Raphael volunteered. In hindsight that was a mistake. Claude didn’t believe Raphael. By the time the rest of them tried convincing him, he was convinced they were trying to prank him.

  
  


* * *

  
  


When Claude described Noodle as a ‘second skin’, Dimitri hadn’t realized how true the statement was. Noodle clung to him nonstop. When he trained, when he ate, even when he slept. She only separated from him when he bathed and even then he had a few incidents in which she decided to join him. He had much more respect for Claude now. How Claude parented Noodle alone for the first two weeks of her life, he had no idea. She was stretching Dimitri to his limit.

When she wasn’t sleeping on him, or being pet by him, or clinging to him, she would perch on his head and stare off into the distance. When she grew too melancholic for that, she hid under his cape and whined.

Dedue reaffirmed how truly invaluable he was (not that Dimitri could ever forget). He would be lost without Dedue. At his retainer’s suggestion, he’d taken to wearing Claude’s house cape underneath his own. Claude’s scent was no substitute for the Golden Deer himself, but it calmed Noodle somewhat. There was the unexpected side effect of calming _him_ too, though the scent also left his stomach feeling odd.

The kittens were easier to take care of yet heartrending nonetheless. Like Noodle, Claude’s absence sent them into a funk. He tried playing with them to no result. Sun would have scratched him a great deal were it not for his gauntletts. Star was likewise testy, doing her best to tear up Claude’s blankets. Being so tiny, she didn’t do much damage. Moon nearly stopped his heart with panic when he failed to locate her. He had no idea where she hid in Claude’s small room, but she did crawl to eat every so often.

In a fit of desperation he sought help from his classmates. He smuggled the kittens into his own room (he refused to allow Claude to get in trouble if the wrong person overheard about the triplettes, as well as it being rude to invite other people into Claude’s room). Ashe managed to do the impossible and cheer the little kittens up for short periods.

Thank the Goddess Claude’s snake was easy to deal with. Rather, he wasn’t forced to deal with her at all, as she didn’t need to eat often. Butter was likewise fine. The old dog had already lived most of his life without Claude. Nonetheless, Butter was noticeably subdued. 

At night, Noodle slept fitfully. When she was awake, she whined and whimpered nonstop. Sometimes she tugged at him. She was adamant about taking him to Claude’s room, only to cry when she found it empty of Claude.

It took two days of no sleep for him to break. He started sleeping in Claude’s room. 

Claude told him it was okay. Claude gave him permission. Yet it was highly scandalous. It was impossible _not_ to blush the first time he settled into Claude’s waiting bed. But it worked. Noodle still warbled plenty of sad noises, but she easily fell asleep against him in Claude’s bed. 

He himself, surrounded by blankets that smelled of _Claude,_ and pillows that smelled of _Claude,_ while laying in _Claude’s_ room… he too found that strangely comforting. More than comforting, really. He liked the way Claude smelled. He liked it far too much.

Perhaps, should the Goddess smile upon him, he might receive a hug from Claude at his return.

His ghosts still hounded him, as they always did. But strangely enough, sometimes they fell silent when he slept in Claude’s room. Never for too long, but there were moments. Moments where his head was too filled with thoughts of Claude or thoughts of Noodle or thoughts of kittens and dogs and all sorts of animals, his thoughts too filled for his ghosts to push through. 

He did his best to make up for accidentally ignoring them by doubling down on his hunt for information for their revenge. Yet when he visited the library, he found himself constantly wanting to ask Claude’s opinion on everything. Claude always had insights Dimitri never even thought to consider. He was brilliant and Dimitri sorely missed his council.

He hadn’t realized how much Claude’s presence brightened his day— his _life—_ until the Golden Deer wasn’t around. The mischievous smile and light attitude, the jokes, even the teasing— It was mind boggling how much Dimitri had come to incorporate Claude into his daily life in such a short period of time.

His nights danced between dreaming of Claude and dreaming of Claude’s absence. The fleeting sweet dreams were filled with longing and the scent of spice and pine. His nightmares were filled with an empty bed and the news of Claude’s demise.

  
  


* * *

“The lost hunter ran through the dark woods. But no matter how fast he ran, the steady _thump, thump, thump_ followed him. The sound of trees falling and trunks cracking followed him, growing closer and closer as the creature honed in on its prey. A root tripped the hunter, spelling his doom. He hit the ground and curled into a ball, knowing he had no shot at fighting the massive creature following him. He watched, eyes wide in horror as the great beast appeared. It was an elk formed out of shadows, its great antlers thick like outstretched hands. It towered over him, triple the size of any normal elk. The Shadow Elk’s gleaming eyes peered into his soul, judging his very being…”

“Oh no, does he die? I can’t take this…”

Leonie chuckled lowly, the campfire casting an eerie shadow over her face. “No. The hunter pleaded for his life, promising he would never hunt again if the Shadow Elk spared his life. The elk raised a hoof, rearing up on two legs… and then… _BAM!”_

“Aaah!”

“The Shadow Elk slammed its hoof down next to the hunter’s head, racing off into the dark forest, never to be seen again.” 

“Is it over? Please tell me the story is over!” Lysithea clung to Cyril, who in turn clutched her back.

Leonie laughed. “Yeah, that’s it.”

“Is that really a true story?” Cyril asked, slightly shaking. “The Shadow Elk isn’t real, right?”

Leonie shrugged. “Dunno. Old Man Tom swears up and down it happened. No one knows for sure, but just in case that’s why my village refuses to hunt fawns. _‘If it’s got spots, don’t take the shot!’_ as my da always says.”

“That’s not a scary story…” Lysithea poorly lied. “I’m not afraid at all!”

“Hmph. Judging by your description, you are speaking of a simple moose. Strange that one would be so far from Faerghus, but no supernatural feat. Why, the first time I witnessed a moose, I—”

“Wow Lorenz, no one cares.”

“Claude! How dare you—”

“Never seen a moose or the Shadow Elk, so I have no idea.” Leonie shrugged. “I figure it’s just another myth like the White Stag. A hunter bumbles out into the woods, drunk out of his mind, spots something he can’t explain, and tries to explain it away.”

“I’ve always believed in the White Stag,” Ignatz said. “They are rare for a reason. They wouldn't be special if just anyone could see one, right?”

“Um, what’s the White stag?” Cyril asked.

“It’s an old folk story from Leicester. All of us know it, and it’s not very scary, so I’ll tell you later,” Lysithea promised. 

Claude rolled his eyes. “The ‘Shadow Elk’ story isn’t scary either.” It wasn’t like an animal would just attack someone for no good reason. “Hey Teach, I bet you’ve got some terrifying tales under your belt. Come _on,_ I’m dying for a real ghost story!” Claude shifted on the log he, Hilda, and Marianne were using as a bench. Marianne had been slowly inching closer to Hilda’s side throughout the night so far. A _really_ spooky story might just send her into Hilda’s waiting arms. Never let it be said he’s a bad friend. Plus, _he_ wanted a good ghost story too.

“Just the one story.”

Claude wasn’t the only one to lean forward in interest. “Oh-ho? Do tell.”

“Ghosts aren’t _real_ Claude!”

“I know of a ghost.” The class went silent at Teach’s statement. “A spectre, lost in time. A little girl, clad in strange garb and speaking in old, outdated speech.” They paused.

“Don’t leave us hanging!” Claude leaned even closer. “Come on Teach, you’ve got us all hooked.”

They waved a hand near their head. Batting at a bug, probably. “The ghost seeks to drive the one she haunts to insanity. She chatters, incessant and demeaning. Never satisfied, always demanding unreasonable things. Much like her appearance suggests, she behaves like the worst kind of brat.”

“And…?”

Teach shrugged. “That’s it.”

Claude threw back his head and groaned. “Wow Teach, you’re awful at ghost stories.”

“You asked about the ghost I’ve met. So I told you.”

“Ugh! Professor, ghosts _aren’t real!”_

Claude was disappointed with the stories so far. Most of the ‘ghost stories’ were mediocre at best. Raphael told the story of the ‘bread thief ghost’. He tried his best but it wasn’t exactly compelling. Lorenz spun a story about a lost soul searching for his bride. _Yawn._ Hilda passed, Marianne passed, Ignatz passed, and Lysithea was adamant that ghosts couldn’t be real.

“Hey Cyril, I bet you’ve got a ton of scary stories.” Hilda leaned towards Cyril. “Like, all your stories about Prince Kaled are super scary!”

Cyril rubbed the back of his neck. “I, um. I dunno.”

“There must be some scary Almyran folk tales, right?” Leonie asked.

“Yeah, ‘course there are. But I don’t wanna talk about them.” He kicked his feet back and forth. Foolishly, Claude dared to hope he was in the clear. “I guess there’s one I can think of. It’s not a ghost story, but it’s kinda spooky…”

“Let’s hear it!” Leonie cheered. “Is it a Prince Kalid story?”

“I’m almost out of those. Aren’t you guys sick of those yet?”

“They are getting repetitive,” Claude said. “The poor guy is hated, gets attacked, survives, and everyone keeps hating him.”

Hilda elbowed him. _“‘Poor guy’?_ C’mon Claude, he’s a demon! Of course he gets attacked! He deserves to be hated!”

He shrugged. “I just think we don’t have the full picture. If he really _is_ a demon, don’t you think his parents would have, I don’t know, disinherited him or something?”

“I thought Prince Calleen uses magic to force his parents to love him?” Raphael said.

Hilda nodded. “Exactly!”

“Right, right, how could I forget about that. Aren’t all of these stories exaggerations, anyways? Whatever, I still don’t think this guy is real.”

Lysithea kicked him. “Shut up Claude! I want to hear Cyril’s story!”

“Right. Um, this one’s actually kinda scary… Some people say that Prince Khalid steals energy from the moon. He—”

“What?!” Hilda shouted. “From the _moon?!_ That’s crazy!”

Cyril shrunk in on himself. “It’s not weird… it’s a cultural difference I guess. In Almyra, folks don’t pray to the Goddess. There’re a lotta things to pray to. The moon and the stars are big ones. Sometimes the Moon Goddess gives out her blessing… um, so people say. I haven’t ever seen any evidence. It’s just said that the prince _takes_ her blessing instead of being given it.”

“A Goddess of the Moon? Fascinating…” Ignatz murmured.

“And blasphemous,” Lorenz muttered. Lorenz was the only Deer that had a problem with Cyril talking about Almyran beliefs. Considering that Cyril only ever answered questions about what Almyrans generally believed and never claimed any of it to be ‘truth’, the Deer viewed the religion just as a harmless and interesting vehicle for stories. 

Cyril cleared his throat. “Attacking the prince in the daylight is a bad idea, ‘cause the king’ll notice and kill anyone that tries. But attacking him at night is bad too, ‘cause he steals power from the moon. So someone got the idea that if he didn’t have access to the sky, he might finally die.”

_No. Gods and Goddesses, please no. Not this._

“Plenty of places worship the sky, actually,” Claude interrupted, desperate to stall the story. He had a bad feeling about where it was going. “Morfis’ entire religion revolves around the moon and the sun. And Sreng have monthly rituals dedicated to the stars. So I’ve read, anyway.” He gestured to the fire-blank night sky above them, mostly hidden by trees. “There’s something inspiring about the night sky, don’t you think?”

“Barbaric.” He could _hear_ Lorenz roll his eyes. “How simple.”

“Stop being such a stick in the mud. You’re ruining the story for the rest of us.” Leonie glared at Lorenz.

“Excuse me? How dare you talk to me like—”

Claude dared to hope Lorenz’s prattle might derail the conversation, but it wasn’t meant to be. One sore noble shin later, Lorenz was content to mutter quietly to himself.

Claude was fine. It was an old story, and he was fine. He couldn't allow himself _not_ to be. With ease born of practice, he took a deep breath and compartmentalized what he was feeling. That familiar dread still clung to him but it was manageable, below the surface. And here he thought in Fódlan he wouldn't need those old techniques for dealing with his past.

He focused on the light of the fire, the smell of fresh open air, the sound of other people. He wasn't alone and he wasn't trapped. He was alive, and that meant he was fine.

“Um… right. So, ‘cause the prince steals power from the moon, some warriors decided to fight him underground. One night they caught the prince leaving the palace to do… um, something bad. I don’t remember what. They stopped him before he hurt anyone. The prince ran away, so they chased him. The prince poisons anyone innocent that gets too close to him, so the warriors chased him into the wilds. They trapped him in a cave and blew up the opening. The prince was so angry he started howling and wailing, loud enough to wake everything in the mountain. The warriors were forced to flee, ‘cause the prince summoned a bunch of evil spirits to kill them.”

“Lots of the warriors died. Prince Khalid cursed them even though he was trapped in the cave. The sound of his angry screaming was enough to poison them with deadly venom.” Cyril paused. “Or maybe a bunch of them got bit by snakes. The mountain’s got a lotta poisonous snakes. I dunno.” He shrugged. “The warriors fled. By dawn, more than half of the brave warriors were dead. Since the prince was trapped under rubble, there was no way he could get free. But in the end all the death was pointless, ‘cause the prince survived somehow. A few days later he was magically back at the palace.”

Hilda groaned. “Aww! Here I thought someone finally got him.”

“I’ve heard this one before,” Claude interrupted with an easy smile. “You don’t need to make every story about _‘Prince Khalid’_ in order to get people to listen to you.” He gripped his knee hard enough to bruise.

Cyril shrugged. “I dunno, maybe it’s not about him. The way I heard it, it was about him.”

Lysithea pointed at him. “You pronounced Khalid’s name correctly.”

 _Damn._ He shrugged. “Like you said yourself, it’s not too hard if you practice.”

“Well? If it’s not about the prince, then who’s it about Claude?”

He laughed. “I’ll admit, the story as I know it is a bit different. There were no honorable warriors. It’s not a very nice story.” 

“Is that not the point,” Lorenz gestured around them, “of this _rabble?_ To tell horrible stories?”

“I’ll tell it.” He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together as he stared into the campfire. “My father used to tell the story to me in order to make sure I behaved,” he lied. “I used to have nightmares about it,” he told the truth. “It’s an old story,” _relatively speaking,_ “from a place across the ocean,” technically. Almyra was accessible from the ocean, after all.

“Once upon a time, in a faraway place, there was a young boy the age of nine. All around him, people despised him.” He paused, directing his smile at Cyril. “Hey, maybe that’s why you got the stories mixed up. Both involve a hated boy.” He looked back into the fire, his smile slipping slightly. “The boy hadn’t done anything wrong. People hated him just for existing. If anything went wrong, they pointed fingers at the boy. Explaining himself, fighting back, yelling… nothing he did could change what people thought of him. One lonely night, the boy decided he had enough. He ran away.”

“The boy ran and ran, thinking he could outrun anyone that might try to catch him. He ran from the city, he ran from the roads, ran from anywhere with people. When he could run no more, he collapsed against a large rock to catch his breath. He looked to the stars above him and began to pray. _‘Don’t let them catch me,’_ he begged to the sky. _‘Don’t let them find me,’_ he begged to the stars. _‘Don’t let them hurt me,’_ he begged to the moon.”

“You see, the boy was hated by _people._ But the sky, the stars, the moon? They never hurt him. At the boy’s birth, the Sky sent the boy a protector of wind to whisk him away from harm. When the boy grew too big to be carried away, the Stars sent him a bracelet to alert him of coming danger and ward away all who saw it. When the bold hurt him despite the Star’s gift, the Moon soothed away his injuries.” That was how he explained it to himself as a child. _Ama, Vish, and his crest._

“In the boy’s haste to run away, he left behind his protector and his bracelet. He heard the sound of wings above and hooves aside, and he knew he was being hunted. He began running again but he was on foot. The boy knew he would be caught soon. Then he found a cave. It was the perfect place to hide, so he thought.”

“Hidden in the cave, the boy huddled alone. He shivered and shook from fear and cold. Every creak, every crack, every little sound left him more afraid.” Claude shifted on the log, echoing a long _creeeak._

“Within the darkness of the cave, ghostly figures swirled into existence. Hateful eyes and sneering faces surrounded him. From the darkness, the ghosts _watched_ him, _waiting_ for something.” He raised his arm, pointing into the dark of the surrounding forest. “Perhaps it was his eyes playing tricks on him. Perhaps it wasn’t. It’s impossible to know what lurks in the dark.”

His classmates nervously glanced to the forest. Lysithea hunkered closer to Cyril. Hilda scooted away from him a little, wrapping her arms around Marianne. Marianne didn’t protest, only biting her lip. At least someone would benefit from his story. 

“The little boy was afraid. Soon enough, he heard the sound of footsteps. He saw faint torchlight enter the cave. He pressed himself into a corner, begging for the men not to hear his thundering heart. The cave wasn’t very large. It would take a miracle for the men to miss him.”

“The men didn’t bother to look for him. At the mouth of the cave, they laughed and sneered. They taunted the little boy, calling him terrible things. They bragged about his demise as though they were felling a grand evil plaguing the land.” He couldn’t help the bitter scoff that fell from his lips. “As though a dozen experienced veterans of war might find _any_ challenge in murdering an innocent and scared boy. They _mocked_ the little boy. A boy of _nine,_ a boy who only ever retaliated in self-defense. A _child.”_ All at once he remembered he was supposed to be telling a ghost story, not getting angry. “And then the men left. The boy was afraid, but he dared to hope that he was safe. The men grew quieter, and quieter, and quieter…”

 **_“Bang!”_ **

Multiple people screamed as he slapped his hands together.

 _"Bang_ went the opening of the cave. Rocks crashed and the faint moonlight from outside vanished, trapping the boy in darkness completely. He gathered his courage to investigate the crumbled opening. But he tripped. When he stood, he couldn’t remember which direction the opening was in. He twisted this way and that, confusing himself more and more. He crawled forward until he came to a wall. He scrabbled at the wall, hoping it might be an opening. His nails cracked and bled as he clawed at the unyielding stone. Nothing but the sound of _scrape… scrape… scrape…_ to keep him company.” He scraped his nails against the log.

He realized he had stopped smiling at some point. “The darkness was all that remained. The little boy began to cry. His sobs echoed around him. The ghostly figures of the cave cried with him, scaring him even more. He cried out for help. He cried for his mama. He cried for his papa. He cried for his protector and bracelet. He cried for _anyone_ to help him. When his throat was worn hoarse, his mouth desperately thirsty, he began to cry for himself.”

 _“‘Why am I hated?’_ the little boy asked the cave. _‘Hated, hated…’_ echoed the cave. _‘I did nothing wrong!’_ the little boy yelled. _‘Wrong, wrong…!’_ echoed the cave. _‘Am I going to die?’_ the little boy whispered. _‘Die, die…’_ the cave whispered back.”

He paused, swallowing roughly. At some point he’d been dug free by wild animals. But to him, trapped in the darkness, no way to tell time? He really had thought he’d died. A few times in that horrible cave, he’d dreamed about escaping only to wake and find himself still trapped. Sometimes he still had nightmares of waking back up in that cave.

He cleared his throat, trying to shake off the old memories. He glanced at his classmates, all on the edge of their seats. _Might as well have a bit of fun…_

“They say,” he whispered, “that on nights when the sky is darkest, his whispers can still be heard.” He raised his voice, gesturing up at the thick boughs covering the sky. “When the stars are no longer visible, he grows louder. And when the moon is absent, _that_ is when he is free to act as he pleases.” It went without saying to his classmates that it was the night of the dark moon. “On nights… _just_ like this one.”

He waved his hand at the blackness of the forest surrounding them. “Some say he prowls the shadows on those nights. He _watches_ and _listens_ for those that skirt the edges of his domain. They say, if he catches you judging others unfairly, _that_ is when he comes out. If you catch his attention, you will regret it for the rest of your days.” He gave a low chuckle. “The rest of your very _short_ days. For if you punish another unfairly, hating another for something that is no fault of their own, he will catch you. He will watch you, and wait for you to be swallowed by his shadows. And when the light is gone, and you find yourself alone… abandoned… afraid… it is said he—” 

**_“AIIEEEEE!”_ **

Everyone startled. Claude himself leapt out of his seat and scrambled to grab his bow.

“A prank, Claude?!” Lorenz shouted at him, wide-eyed and clutching his chest. “That was— dear Goddess, that was in poor taste!”

He white knuckled his bow, shaking his head. “That wasn’t me.”

“Is that the ghost?!” Raphael hollered. “Is he coming for us?!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Claude shot back. “It’s just a story.” _Just a story,_ he repeated to himself. _Damn,_ why did he tell that _stupid_ story?! His goal had been to spook his classmates, not _himself!_

“Everyone arm yourself,” Teach commanded. “Raphael, Lorenz, Cyril. Stay here.” They pointed to Lysithea, who fainted against Cyril. Cyril himself shook, almost as pale as Lysithea’s hair. “Everyone else, we’re checking out that noise.”

“D-do we have to?” Hilda gasped, clutching her axe to her chest. “I wanna stay here too.”

“Hilda! Someone’s in trouble, now is _not_ the time!” Leonie chided.

**_“AIIEEEEE!”_ **

“We need to go. _Now._ Everyone stick together!”

No one argued. Claude wasn’t sure the woman would be alive by the time they found her— judging by her screams, it sounded like she was being hacked to pieces.

They marched into the darkness. Marianne raised her hand to illuminate a short area ahead of them in the white glow of faith magic. He reminded himself that he wasn’t alone, that he wasn’t trapped. He wasn’t in a cave. But the darkness surrounding them was _very_ thick.

Again the scream sounded, closer this time. Again, _very_ close now. Everyone tensed.

 **_“AIIEEE—eeep?”_ ** The scream died mid cry.

Illuminated faintly in the glow of Marianne’s spell was a fox.

“W-where’s the woman?” Ignatz asked.

A meaty smack had everyone jumping. Leonie, palm slapped across her face, just sighed. “It’s a fox. I should’ve known. They sound like this sometimes.”

“Like a dying woman?!”

The fox trotted up to Claude, wiggling its tail. It made some quieter, friendly-sounding yips. “Just a fox.” He knelt down and patted its head. He heaved out a breath, suddenly exhausted. He tried to stop the tremors going through him. Marianne joined him. “Where is it hurt?” he asked her. For something screaming so loudly, he expected to find it stuck in a bear trap, but it looked uninjured.

Marianne eyed the fox before shaking her head. “Um, he’s fine. He’s just shouting for attention.”

Hilda’s sigh was louder than the yips of the fox. “He sure got our attention! Ugh! I’ll be hearing that scream in my nightmares for weeks!”

“I’m just happy no one’s actually hurt,” Leonie said. “Gah, I should have realized. Kudos to you Claude, I got too wrapped up in your story.”

“Tch. Me too,” he admitted.

“I thought that the ghost of the boy was screaming at us,” Ignatz sheepishly confessed.

“Ugh, why would Claude’s stupid ghost come after _us?_ I don’t know about you guys, but _I_ haven’t been mean to anyone!”

The fox stood up on two legs to paw at his chest. It began thoroughly sniffing him. He tisked. “Trying to find food to beg off of me?” He laughed, hoping no one could hear the faint quiver to his voice.

“Um…” Marianne’s voice was so quiet he almost didn’t hear her. “He’s, um, he’s trying to comfort you.”

“Huh? What do you mean by tha—”

The fox sat down on its haunches, threw back its head, and began howling.

“Claude! What did you do?” Hilda shouted at him.

“I didn’t do anything!”

In the distance, another howl answered the first. Then another. The forest filled with fox calls. The _dark_ forest _echoed_ with fox calls. Howls and screams alike. He shuddered. 

“Hey Leonie, what’s it mean when a fox does this?”

“This isn’t normal.” Her eyes were wide, sending a chill down his spine. “We should leave. I don’t like this.”

“We’ll return to camp,” Teach agreed. 

“The fox is following us,” Ignatz noted as they headed back. “Is that a bad thing?”

“Go on, shoo,” he murmured to the fox dogging his steps. “Go back to doing whatever foxes do that isn’t screaming.” It weaved around his legs midstep, nearly tripping him. The forest still echoed with noise. 

“Don’t attack first,” Leonie warned them. “Only in self-defense. I don’t know what’s going on, but we don’t want to risk angering a forest spirit.”

“Forest spirits aren’t _real,”_ Hilda whined.

Claude wanted to ask about _‘forest spirits’_ as that sounded distinctly _not_ like the Church of Seiros. He was too distracted keeping his footing though.

By the time they returned to the camp, it was clear that the howls were getting closer. 

“Professor, you’re back!” Raphael and Lorenz looked _very_ relieved. Poor Cyril was shaking like a leaf. Lysithea was awake again, clutching Cyril like her life depended on it. “Did you save the woman? What’s going on, why are there so many people screaming?”

Teach pointed to the fox, now on two-legs pawing at Claude’s hip. “That’s the woman.”

Raphael gasped. “She’s been turned into a fox?!”

The howling began to die down as Teach explained to them about the intricacy of foxes and the noises that they apparently could make.

Also, Claude now had three foxes begging for his attention. Then a fourth appeared. A fifth, a sixth, a—

“Uh, guys?” His lap was full. The howling finally stopped, but more foxes were slowly trickling into the campsite. _Why weren’t they swarming anyone else?_ He’d had his fair share of animal blankets before, sure, but never around other people. This trip was a first for that. Animals always preferred to join him when he was alone. Then again, his experience so far with Fódlan pointed to animals not caring how many people were around.

But why were they only clustering around _him?_

“Goddess above, we should have known,” Hilda muttered, burying her face in her hands. “Of _course_ this is why.”

“Known what? What’s that supposed to mea— ack, hey!” A fox jumped on his back and scrambled to perch on his shoulder.

“This is another of those… _‘things’_ isn’t it,” Lorenz murmured to Hilda.

“Things? What things? Gah, come on, that’s not yours…” A fox decided to bat at his braid. He picked the fox up by the armpits and held it up. “Anyone else want a fox? They’re very soft.”

In the end, Claude managed to heave himself to his bedroll before being buried. He managed to pawn off a whopping two foxes to Marianne from his pile of (still increasing) foxes. There were a handful of other miscellaneous critters too, but the majority were foxes.

With his back facing his classmates, laying on his side so as to not get _suffocated,_ he allowed himself to hug a fox to his chest. It nosed his cheek. He bit back a laugh as a few of the foxes began a battle to squeeze their way into his arms as well.

It was hard to be annoyed at the creatures. The tight knot in his chest loosened.

He could get used to these ‘living blanket’ situations. They were soft, warm, cuddly, and could protect him. Their purring, while much quieter than a cat’s, swiftly lulled him to a peaceful sleep.  
  
  


* * *

“Is he asleep?” Hilda whispered. She didn’t want Claude eavesdropping on their conversation about him.

“How are we supposed to tell? He’s covered in _foxes!”_ Lorenz hissed back.

“I, um… I think he’s asleep. B-but I could be wrong…”

“There are even more than this morning.” Ignatz pulled out his sketchbook and flipped to an incredibly detailed drawing of Claude covered in critters.

“Oh my _gosh_ Ignatz, I will _pay_ you for a copy of that.” The blackmail potential was off the charts. Plus, it was adorable. “Can you draw him with the foxes? _Please_ tell me you’ll draw him with the foxes!”

“O-oh, um, I plan to try in the morning. If they’re still there. I can make you a copy, you don’t need to pay me. My art isn’t worth much…”

“I beg to differ. I _will_ bury you in gold, and you _will_ give me a copy of Claude buried in cutesie snuggly critters.”

Lorenz cleared his throat. “Back to the topic. This is growing out of hand. It is unnatural.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Marianne flinch. She hunched her shoulders, petting the two foxes curled up on her lap. 

“I’ll agree that it’s odd. But I mean, it’s not like it’s a bad thing.”

“I’d say it’s even useful at times,” Leonie murmured. “There’s the thing with the horses.” She paused. They were _all_ still processing _that_ craziness. “Beyond that… Think about it: around Claude, animals are completely docile. With him, we don’t need to worry about wild animal attacks.”

“Oh yes, because the cacophony of fox screams is _such_ a boon,” Lorenz muttered.

Ignatz shook his head. “That was terrifying, but at least it wasn’t dangerous. I’m really glad no one was hurt.”

“And we can’t forget fighting the bandits,” Hilda muttered. “I wonder if he can charm loyal steeds too. I don’t think it’s _possible_ for an animal to harm him.”

“Absolute insanity,” Lorenz whispered. 

“He’s starting to notice that it’s weird. He was visibly bewildered by the foxes, which really says something…” Ignatz nodded to the pile of foxes that Claude had vanished under.

“Ugh.” Hilda thumped her chin against her hands. “I just don’t get it. He summoned a whole pack of foxes!”

“U-um, a-actually, it’s a leash of foxes. N-not a pack.” 

“He summoned a leash of foxes! How does that even happen? I’ve never heard of magic doing that, and he’s obviously not doing it on purpose.”

No one gave her an answer. Their resident magic expert, Lysithea, was still adorably clutching Cyril. The two of them had fallen asleep quickly. Aside from the low hum of fox purrs and the crackle of the dying fire, the camp was silent.

“Maybe he’s cursed?” Leonie suggested. “Or blessed? Honestly not sure which it is given he doesn’t have any control over it.”

“Or any awareness that it’s happening at all,” Lorenz muttered.

“Hey Mari. You’re like, supernaturally good with animals too. What do you think?”

She tensed. “N-no I’m not.”

Leonie snorted. “You’re the only one that managed to pry a fox off of Claude. Forest critters like you almost as much as they like him.”

Hilda sighed. “I get why animals like _Mari._ She’s got such a calming aura around her. But Claude’s like the opposite of that. _Ugh._ If he was aware of this, I wouldn’t have to do any thinking, because he’d solve the mystery for me. It’s _his_ job to be all curious and nosy!” 

“I wonder if he could use this to his advantage.” Leonie gestured at the pile of foxes. “Think about it! If he could command an army of critters to attack bandits, our job would be easy.”

Hilda shook her head. “We’ve all seen him fall apart at the first set of cute animal eyes he sees, to the point where he can’t even bring himself to pry them off of him. Even if he _could_ levy an ounce of authority over them, he’d never do it anyways. Because that might risk the little things getting hurt, and Claude has an ooey gooey heart.”

“Damn, you’re right.” Leonie heaved a long sigh. “The worst thing is, he’s _perfect_ for bringing in fresh meat. With less of a bleeding heart, we’d be eating meat every single day!”

“I think it’s a good thing,” Ignatz countered. “If Claude was willing to kill the animals that um, shower him with affection, wouldn’t that be bad? I don’t think I could stomach that.”

“Fine. Me neither. They all just seem so personal with Claude.” Leonie rested her chin on her palm, staring at the pile of foxes. “Goddess, they’re _still_ trickling in.”

Hilda cleared her throat. “Um, you don’t think they’ll suffocate him on accident, right? I can’t even see him anymore.” There was a beat of silence.

Lorenz snorted a very unnoble-like laugh. “Imagine explaining such an occurrence. No, it was not the bandits that slew him, but a mass of foxes!”

Leonie snickered with him. “Hah! ‘They didn’t even attack him. They smothered him in love!’ No one would believe us.”

“It’s been happening a lot recently,” Hilda murmured. “Is it just random? Or does something trigger it? I’d say we should look into curse-breaking, but if this ever stops Claude’s going to be mauled _immediately_ by expecting animals to be nice and cuddly to him.”

“It happens more when he’s sleeping,” Ignatz pointed out. “Maybe that’s part of the pattern?”

“But it totally happens when he’s awake too! What do you think Marianne?”

“I— I don’t know anything, um, at all. E-even if I did, um, I would likely be wrong. M-maybe we should respect Claude’s privacy…?”

“Perhaps if he showed a sliver of respect in return I might consider that. Hmph. He pries into everyone else’s lives.”

Marianne bit her lip, eyes darting between the foxes on her lap and the foxes piled on Claude. “He seemed upset telling his ghost story…”

Hilda frowned. Marianne was very empathetic and pretty good at reading emotions when it came to anything that didn’t involve herself. If she thought Claude was upset, he probably had been. 

“He stopped smiling.” Ignatz shuddered. “Which is understandable. His version of the story was worse than Cyril’s. I’m glad he told it though.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Hilda watched Marianne cup her hand around one of her fox’s ears. Too quiet to make out, Marianne whispered something to the fox. A few moments later the fox slipped from her lap and trotted over to Claude. Petting her remaining fox, Marianne’s eyes darted around the campfire. Hilda averted her eyes before she was caught watching. The fox joined the pile on top of Claude. She bit back a gasp as she watched the pile jerk. Did Claude wake up?

 _No, what was she thinking._ One extra fox wouldn’t wake him up, not when there were already so many on him.

Leonie hummed. “You really think he was upset? I thought he was just playing into the eeriness of the story.”

Hilda thought back to Claude’s behavior throughout the night. “He _really_ got into it. Like, uncomfortably into the details. I think he might have been genuinely upset. Hard to tell.”

Lorenz shook his head. “Why tell the story in the first place, then? Clearly he was attempting to frighten us in a bid to amuse himself.”

“Because of Cyril’s version.” Ignatz took off his glasses, cleaning them on his shirt. “It matched pretty closely, but they were completely different in tone. I can see why Claude would want to tell the story as he knew it— the victim of his tale was the villain of Cyril’s. I honestly forgot that Prince Kalid is a kid in most of those stories. According to Cyril, he’s not much older than us.”

“Providing he’s still alive,” Hilda peppered in. “Or if he’s even real.”

“As interesting as the stories are, I don’t want to hear more of them,” Ignatz admitted. “They’re interesting as _stories,_ but if they really happened to a real person… It doesn’t sit right with me.”

“He poisons people,” Lorenz reminded Ignatz. “As well as being _Almyran,_ an enemy of the Alliance.”

Leonie waved a hand at Lorenz. “Don’t bring politics into this. Nobility or commoner, Fódlan or Almyra; we’re all people. A kid’s a kid, and no kid deserves to be stabbed.”

“The Western Church believes that those outside of Fódlan’s borders are less than human.”

“Yeah, and those are the same people that tried to assassinate Lady Rhea. I think I’ll trust that Cyril’s just as much a person as I am over some stupid teachings, _Lorenz.”_

Hilda agreed with Leonie. “We all agree Cyril has a soul. _Right_ Lorenz?”

“Now now, no need for such a tone. I agree: Cyril has a soul. The Western Church doctrine is clearly false.”

“Claude flipped Cyril’s story on its head.” Ignatz held out his glasses, squinting into the embers of the campfire. “He changed it from a story about heroes sealing away a great evil to… to a scared kid. A helpless, terrified kid that got blamed for things he didn’t do. What if all of those Prince Kalid stories are the same? What if he’s just a regular person, just like us? Cyril doesn’t have any stories from the prince’s perspective. Only from the people that despise him.”

“There’s gotta be _some_ reason he’s hated! It’s not like people hate other people for no reason!” Hilda knew that gossip mills could wildly change the truth, but there was always a motive. There wasn’t always a _logical_ or _good_ motive… but there was always a reason.

“Misinformation, rumors, political agendas, a smear campaign, revenge— there are plenty of possibilities.” Lorenz quietly listed. “But there must be a grain of truth to such tales.”

Ignatz put his glasses back on. “I think the only way to know for sure would be to meet the prince himself.”

“What?! You can’t just go and _meet_ with the prince of Almyra!” Hilda yelped.

“Shh!”

“Sorry…!”

“Maybe I can’t meet him, but… I think I’d like to see Almyra for my own eyes some day. There must be all kinds of perspectives that I’ve never even considered. Maybe if Cyril wants to join me, he could make new, happier memories of his homeland. I refuse to believe the entire place is awful.”

“Umm, that’s _super_ sweet of you, but Almyra is Fódlan’s enemy.”

“That’s exactly why I should go! If I never met Cyril, I never would have looked beyond Almyra as ‘the enemy.’ Our people only ever meet each other at the border, fighting. Maybe if we talked more and understood each other better, we wouldn’t fight any more.”

“Admirable of you,” Lorenz murmured. “Peace is always a noble goal. But you will be putting your life at risk. Perhaps we do not know everything about the general populace of Almyra, but we _do_ know they are a barbaric, war-loving people that are willing to employ child-soldiers.”

“That _is_ horrible,” Leonie agreed. “Heh, that just means you’ll need some backup in case things go south, right Ignatz? If you do end up going, hit me up. I might just join you. Captain Jeralt told me that it’s important to study all different kinds of ways to fight. I bet they have some fascinating fighting techniques unique to Almyra. That’d give me a huge edge over any other mercenary!”

“Yeesh, how will you guys even cross the border? My brother won’t let just _anyone_ pass!” _Ugh,_ she was probably the only person that would be able to convince her brother to let someone cross. And her classmates all knew it.

Leonie slapped Ignatz’s back, nearly pitching him into the campfire. “I bet Raphael’ll join us too. We can seek fame and fortune, exploring where no other Fódlandi has gone before!”

Lorenz sighed. “A foolish notion… but perhaps not without merit. When I am at the head of the Alliance, it is only right that I sponsor this endeavor. I won’t allow you to galavant off into the unknown without proper supplies. In return, perhaps we will learn from our Eastern neighbor. Insider information if you confirm they are as barbaric as we currently believe. And should your good faith be proven more truthful than our current understanding, then perhaps the Alliance may mend a diplomatic rift we were unaware of. I find this highly unlikely, but I acknowledge the possibility.”

“W-well, um, that’s in the future!” Ignatz rubbed the back of his neck. “We still need to graduate, and my family expects me to become a knight… Raphael has his sister to support. It might be years before we’re ready…”

“I think it would be good,” Marianne meekly added. Hilda nearly melted at the little smile Marianne gave.

It was weird how much everyone seemed to want to give Almyra a chance. She decided that in her next letter to her brother, she would ask him what he thought about the people of Almyra. She could put out some feelers to see what he thought about the little proposed expedition.

She nearly drifted into a daydream over Marianne’s smile. She was snapped out of it as she realized Marianne wasn’t smiling at her lap like usual. Turning in the direction of Marianne’s smile, her jaw dropped.

Claude’s fox pile was a flurry of movement. Every single fox was wagging their tails. Some in slow langid sweeps, others in excited wags. They were still purring, but most of the foxes were awake again, rolling around or snuggling together. Some were grooming each other (and probably Claude too). They reminded her of cats high off of catnip. _Very_ high.

Either Claude was a heavy sleeper (he wasn’t), or he was awake. _Or_ he’d been suffocated and was dead.

She flailed a bit, pointing to Claude. _‘What the hell?’_ she mouthed.

They all exchanged some sheepish looks. She really hoped Claude hadn’t heard their earlier conversation about him. She’d been _sure_ he’d been asleep under all those foxes!

“Well!” She loudly whispered. “We should really get to sleep. Long march tomorrow.”

“What are they doing?!” Leonie whispered the barest breath. “Why— I don’t— gah, nevermind. You’re right Hilda. This night has been too odd.”

She threw back her head and gave a long sigh. “Goddess. Look at them all. I’ve never seen anything look so happy.”

There was a rustle in the woods. It sounded too big to be another fox. The professor and Raphael were both on watch, so it _shouldn’t_ be anything dangerous.

Something blindingly white stepped out of the darkness. In the faint light of the fire, it seemed to glow. Maybe it _was_ glowing. 

It was large, towering over Claude as it approached. The foxes knew to get out of its way, revealing part of Claude. The massive stag knelt down, sniffing Claude’s face. Claude was facing away from them on his side, so she had no idea if he was awake or not. 

The stag settled against Claude, dwarfing him. It slipped its foreleg over Claude’s body, as if protectively. It relaxed against him before beginning to neatly lick his hair. The foxes, upon seeing the stag settled, began retaking their places against Claude to cover him back up. Just like before, the foxes were still wildly affectionate and snuggly. Just before he vanished under all the fur and wagging tails, she saw Claude shift to curl his arms around the deer and cuddle it like a bear stuffy. Then he was gone under layers of fox fur. Only the top of his head was still visible with the white stag slowly ‘grooming’ him.

“Am I dreaming?” Hilda whispered, barely daring to breathe.

“I know I sure am,” Leonie whispered back.

No one dared to speak above a whisper.

“I can’t believe it. A White Stag…! This is… oh Goddess. I never dreamed I might see one in person…!” Ignatz dropped everything to fumble out his sketchbook.

Lorenz wheezed.

Leonie rubbed at her eyes. “Spotting a white stag at all is supposed to bless you with divine favor. They’re impossible to catch.”

They all knew the stories. Every child in Leicester grew up on tales of the White Stag and the Golden Doe. There were a lot of variations of the story, but the underlying theme was always the same: Seeing the White Stag was a Big Deal. Some stories said there was only one White Stag, other stories said that a White Stag was any deer blessed by the Goddess. Some older stories claimed the White Stag and the Golden Doe were the moon and sun in physical form. Her father always told her that they were _just_ stories, but…

“My da said that chasing a White Stag will lead you to an important destiny. But I’ve never heard of one just… showing up.”

“This… What does this mean? Why _Claude_ of all people?” Lorenz’s jaw was still hanging open. Hilda could relate.

“White Stags are holy creatures. M-messengers of the Goddess. It’s said only those… o-only those with p-pure intentions are allowed to even s-see them…”

“And one just up and _laid down_ next to Claude,” Hilda finished.

* * *

  
  


Hilda didn’t get much sleep. How could she when there was a _White Stag_ mere _feet_ away from her?! She wasn’t superstitious, but there were some things that were _not_ to be messed with. The stag stayed with Claude all night long. 

She _still_ couldn’t believe it when dawn broke and it was still there. At least she was able to enjoy Lysithea and Raphael’s amazement. And Cyril’s too after Lysithea whispered the significance to him.

Throughout the course of the morning, the foxes slowly slipped off of Claude. Their oddly happy mood from the night before remained. Plenty of the foxes stayed around the camp, playing with each other or with the Golden Deer. Hilda was _delighted_ to have a fox walk up to her and roll over exposing its belly, begging for pets. Unlike most of the time with Claude’s oddly friendly animals, the foxes were eager to socialize with people other than just Claude. 

It was a lively, if _weird,_ morning.

Claude was per usual an _oblivious moron._ If he wasn’t magically beloved by animals, he’d probably be cursed for a thousand years of bad luck with all the disrespect he gave the White Stag.

“What’s the big deal?” Claude said, munching on a piece of bread. He tore off a little bit and fed it to the stag. “Noodle’s white too. It’s neat, but it’s not _that_ big of a deal.”

“You truly haven’t a grasp on the significance at _all.”_

“It’s a _stag,_ Lorenz. Just because it’s a special color doesn’t make it magical or whatever.” He patted the stag’s snout. Apparently Claude didn’t understand the difference between an albino wyvern and a _White Stag._

She knew he could be a little ignorant about some things, but this was… a lot. She was surprised Lorenz wasn’t calling Claude out on what was rapidly becoming apparent. Either Claude grew up _seriously_ isolated, or… 

Or he wasn’t from Leicester at all.

She had her suspicions. _Everyone_ did when it came to Claude. While this wasn’t rock-solid proof, it was very close.

“You are utterly ignorant.” Lorenz ran a hand down his face, eyes beseeching the heavens. “I see now this duty falls to me. When we return to the monastery, I will educate you in these matters you are so clearly lacking. For everyone’s sake, I pray this is merely a minor lapse, rather than complete naivety on your part.”

“Did you just accuse me of being _naive?”_

“Yes. If you are so witless as to fail to see the importance of a White Stag, I shudder to uncover what other nuances you are blind to. You cannot hope to be even a decent leader if you know so little of the people you intend to rule.”

Claude tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “What are you implying?”

“This task regrettably falls to me. Though I, Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, will be the future head of the Alliance, it is still my duty to ensure you do not make a fool of Leicester as a whole.” His eyes flickered to the White Stag. “Ahem. As well it is my duty as a noble to acknowledge the will of the Goddess. Whether this is Her will or not, I cannot say.”

It was hard not to burst into laughter at the guarded expression of confusion Claude hid. He was still smiling, but she could _see_ the question marks wildly flashing in his eyes. “Suuuure, whatever you say. All this over a simple deer…?”

"Over something anyone _native_ should know."

Any further prodding on Claude’s part was interrupted as the White Stag licked his cheek. Any amusement on her part was interrupted as she realized the fox she was petting was gone. It wasn’t just her fox. _All_ of the foxes returned to Claude. Not only did they suddenly hone in on him, she realized their mood changed too. No tail wags, no bouncy leaps, no play-fighting. The foxes coalessed onto Claude and began nuzzling and purring against him.

The White Stag knocked him over. He flopped onto the ground and was overrun with foxes. Only his outstretched arm visible as he was rapidly re-buried in foxes.

“Why…!” he wheezed.

She wasn’t the only one to notice the sudden shift in fox-atude. The Golden Deer all mimed various gestures to each other while Claude was blinded. Hilda threw her arms wide, gesturing emphatically at the fox plie. Leonie matched her, wildly throwing her arms around. Lorenz oscillated between being gobsmacked and thoughtful. Lysithea held her hands out in front of her, mouthing _‘what the fuck?!’_ Ignatz was furiously scribbling in his sketchbook. Raphael just scratched his head, shrugged, and got back to packing up camp. Likewise, the professor showed no outward sign of surprise. 

It was the oddest thing.

Eventually the foxes switched moods again, letting Claude up. She was beginning to think the animals around Claude reflected his mood, at least somewhat. It was subtle, but he was definitely happier overall. As he bumbled around the campsite trying to get ready to march (all without stepping on his legion of happy foxes) she realized how subdued he’d been recently. Something about his attitude was lighter now. He still smiled the same, but his eyes seemed brighter.

Claude was happy. And so were the animals around him. By a _lot_ more than normal. 

Maybe it was the blessing of the White Stag. Or maybe Claude had a really nice dream that made him extra happy. She needed to work on her theory more. What didn't add up was why the animals were so cuddly with him at times— she was certain Claude wasn’t secretly repressing the desire to snuggle with everyone. What was the difference? Some of the time animals clung to him like glue and refused to let go. Now they were happy to be around him but didn’t _require_ to be as close as physically possible. In their happy mood, the foxes socialized with other people than just Claude. She couldn’t figure out any pattern!

Claude patted the White Stag goodbye, sneaking it a sugarcube. The fact that he kept sugarcubes on his person _just in case_ he ran into an animal to treat was adorably sappy, and she made sure to tease him about it the entire march back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: Let me tell a story that's TOTALLY not about me OR Khalid  
> Claude: *gives a very personal account of his trauma*  
> Claude: haha pretty spooky amirite?  
> GD: claude wtf  
> Claude: this is literally the only way I know how to talk about myself stop judging me 
> 
> Claude: Wow a shiny deer! That's neat.  
> GD: Claude that's a legendary pokemon  
> Claude: lmao don't overreact it's just a shiny  
> GD: cLAUDE
> 
> Lorenz: Claude you ignorant slut  
> Claude: :(
> 
> Next chapter: All Dimitri all day  
> Claude: I pine over Dimitri  
> Dimitri: Hold my beer. I'll show you pining


	12. Ghosts hate him! Foreign prince charms local prince with this one weird trick! Click here to see his SHOCKING results!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude's fallen hard for Dimitri. Dimitri on the other hand has already fallen into the ocean and is drowning.
> 
> Alt chapter title:  
> Parent Trap

Dimitri was just exiting the bathhouse when Noodle went rigid against him. Having been more or less attached to her for the past few days, he was well versed in her body language. She nipped lightly at his neck to get his attention. She then tugged at his sleeve. He patted her cheek.

In a strange turn of events, she jumped off of him and ran away.

Dimitri stared dumbly after her for a moment. She turned the corner before popping her head back around. She gave a small sequence of chirps, waiting for him.

“I suppose you wish for me to follow…?”

She chirped the same short sequence again. He realized it was the same little jingle Claude always clucked his tongue in when he was calling to Noodle. It hadn’t occurred to Dimitri that he’d been training her to respond to a specific series of notes.

Evidently, Noodle learned it meant ‘come here.’ He broke out into a wide grin. “You are so very smart,” he quietly cooed to her. “Just like Claude, mm?” He wondered what other noises she could be taught. Here he thought teaching her a signal to put flowers in Claude’s hair was impressive; meanwhile Claude was training her to communicate!

As soon as he began following her, she took off again at breakneck speed. She only stopped along the way to make sure he was still following her.

She led him to the monastery gate. She seemed content with the spot, retaking her place on him by begging to be picked up (he never could say no). She began winding circles around his shoulders. It was her version of pacing. Her tail wiggled nonstop, occasionally slapping him in the face.

“I have no idea what you’re doing,” Dimitri murmured. It was a phrase he found himself saying many, many times during the week. He hoped she was alright. Perhaps he should have the wyvern master take a look at her? Or maybe she was just excited for no reason? The mind of a wyvern was difficult to grasp. At one point in the week he had feared that she was dying, when in fact she had been extremely excited to chase after a fly.

He sighed. Other than drawing a few looks from the evening shoppers of the marketplace, he couldn’t figure out why Noodle brought him here. But as soon as he tried to leave, she nipped at him, tugging at his sleeve and whining until he returned to his spot by the gate.

“Is everything alright, Your Highness…?” the Gatekeeper asked him.

“Yes, nothing to worry about.” Dimitri patted Noodle’s head. “She seems determined for me to stand here. I’m just waiting for her to wear herself out.”

She didn’t wear herself out.

Noodle eventually decided his shoulder wasn’t a good enough perch anymore. He grunted as she scrambled to climb his head, her claws none-too-gently scratching into his scalp. He raised a hand to steady her (pulling her away would likely result in more pain), leaving his palm against her side to keep her from falling. She sat up straight and began screaming.

‘Screaming’ might have been an overstatement. Nonetheless, she began making very loud and sudden howls that startled Dimitri so badly that she nearly slipped from his head. The Gatekeeper nearly dropped his spear in fright. She sounded much more like a dying cat than the healthy wyvern she actually was.

“She’s never done this before,” Dimitri hastened to say, feeling a bubble of panic.

There was a small commotion outside of the gate. 

“What in the Goddess’ name is making such a racket?” A familiar voice called. Dimitri broke into a wide grin as he recognized the voice of one of Claude’s classmates. “Haven’t we dealt with enough howling?”

Dimitri watched the Golden Deer enter the monastery. Noodle cried again. Claude’s green eyes came into view, wide and concerned and curious and pretty and— and a great many things. Dimitri patted Noodle’s side, waving to Claude with his other hand.

“Aw, baby missed her mama,” Hilda loudly teased Claude, shoving him. 

Claude rolled his eyes, but jogged up the stairs nonetheless. “I see I’ve been miss— oomph!”

Noodle tackled Claude, leaping at him with all of her might. She slammed into his chest with enough force to knock him off balance and almost over. Dimitri’s hand shot out by instinct to snatch Claude’s arm before he fell down the flight of stairs. His other hand clutched Claude’s back, pulling him a step away from the stairs.

Claude threw back his head and laughed. Dimitri forgot how to breathe. “That’s some welcome!” He cradled Noodle’s head in his hand, bringing her face up to his cheek. She immediately began lavishing his cheek with wyvern-kisses. “Thanks for the save, Your Princeliness! Would’ve been pretty pathetic to be bested by some stairs!”

“We missed you. _She_ missed you I mean,” Dimitri croaked. “W-well, that’s not to say I didn't either. But I’d hazard to guess she missed you a great deal more. Ah, I suppose that’s rather evident…”

“Heh, I’ll say! Aw, missed you too,” he patted her cheek again. Then Claude aimed those beautiful, cunning eyes at him and winked. “I see you missed me as well. You can let go of me now.”

Dimitri was all too suddenly aware of how closely he held Claude. He was still holding his arm and back. He immediately released his agonizingly charming friend, taking a step back. “My apologies, Noodle distracted me.” Dimitri shook his head, chuckling. “She knew you were almost back, though how I can’t say. She’s been very determined to ensure I stay in this exact spot for the past half hour.”

Claude tried to shift Noodle but she was unwilling to budge a single inch, stubbornly clinging to him. She wedged the claws of her wings under the straps of his armor. He sighed, but his smile didn’t diminish at all. “Thanks for looking after her. Not going to lie, I was worried I’d check my bag and find that she smuggled herself into my things.”

“No trouble at all. You know I adored Noodle.”

“Did she have fun being a big blue lion for the week?” 

“She sulked for the majority of the week.”

“Awww, Noodle.” Claude petted her forehead. He cupped his hands to whisper baby-talk to her, a rare treat for Claude to do in public. “You gotta grow up to be a big and strong independent wyvern, honey. You can’t go sulking over a man for a week straight.”

Dimitri left out the fact that he too had somewhat sulked over Claude’s absence.

“I suppose I should just be happy to hear she wasn’t corrupted by Sylvain while I was away. She _wasn’t_ corrupted by Sylvain while I was away, yes?”

“Of course not! I would never allow that!”

Claude chuckled. “I’m kidding.”

“I’ll warn you that Sylvain has taken to calling her ‘Princess Noodle of Faerghus.’ Or occasionally ‘Her Small Highness.’ He and Ingrid actually got into a heated debate on whether or not Noodle would be heir to the Kingdom or to House Riegan. In a miraculous turn of events, they managed to drag Felix into it without any property damage. He argued that, as a wyvern, she clearly should inherit both.” It had been a nostalgic conversation despite Dimitri not participating directly. For a small moment, it felt like old times.

Claude threw back his head and really laughed this time. “Gods, I can just imagine a full-grown Noodle sitting at the head of the roundtable! Things might proceed smoothly for the first time in Alliance history. Who’s going to argue with a wyvern!”

“Only a fool.” Dimitri clutched his hands together behind his back. It was difficult to resist the urge to reach out to Claude.

Claude stretched, yawning. “Wow, I’m beat. I’m off to the bathhouse, then to bed with me!” He pawed at Noodle again, still to no avail. “You’ll have to come off soon unless you want to get wet with me.”

Dimitri huffed a laugh. “She was determined to join me in a few of my baths this week.”

Claude raised an eyebrow. “That so? Noodle, you hate getting wet!”

She burbled pathetically into his chest.

Dimitri cleared his throat, averting his eyes from the adorable pair. “I suppose you must be hungry as well. The dining hall closes rather soon…” Against his will, his eyes flickered back to Claude.

Claude’s lips fell into a cute pout. “What? Aw man! I’m starving.”

“I have yet to eat myself. How about you wash up, and I’ll join you with some food?”

Claude cheered, raising his fist. “Yes! You’re the best! See, _Hilda_ never does these kinds of things for me. If you ever get tired of being a prince and decide to defect, you’ll always have a place by my side.” Claude delivered his words with cheek and a wink, but Dimitri still found himself oddly… pleased?

He cleared his throat again. At times, watching Claude’s smile felt like watching the sun itself. “Yes, well. I will see you soon.”

Not much later, he found himself walking to Claude’s room, two plates in hand. He happened to pass Dedue as his retainer exited the garden. He felt a flash of embarrassment at Dedue’s raised eyebrow, though he couldn’t pinpoint why.

“I appreciate your initiative, Your Highness.” Dedue pointedly eyed the plates.

“I feed myself on the regular, thank you very much!” At least once a week. Usually. Dedue might bring him _most_ of his meals, but Dimitri fed himself too! Dedue just gave him a knowing look. Dimitri rushed the rest of the way to Claude’s room.

He fed the kittens _(one cup total for the three of them, three times a day,_ Claude left strict instructions not to overfeed them). He was banking on Claude returning before the kittens finished, as he didn’t fancy defending dinner from the curious tripletts.

The door opened. His legs were accosted by a white blur. He instinctively picked Noodle up in what was a very familiar routine by now. He fondly shook his head at the silly little wyvern.

He nearly choked as he looked up and witnessed Claude. The archer leaned against his doorframe, flashing an amused smile. The smile turned much more soft as the triplettes ignored the rest of their dinner in favor of pouncing on Claude and squealing in delight.

Fresh from the bathhouse, Claude’s hair was extra fluffy. Being mostly dry, Dimitri could only assume he’d taken a towel to it. If that was how he dried his hair, it was no wonder it was always so messy. His braid was undone, the single lock of long hair oddly captivating. If Dimitri had thought his braid was distracting, it was twice so when undone. It was better to stare at his hair than all of the skin his loungewear displayed. Yes, much better to stare at his face.

_Dear Goddess, his smile._

Butter got up from where he had been sleeping in the corner, greeting Claude much more calmly than the kittens. Claude scratched the dog’s head, his eyes scrunching up.

Claude scooped the kittens into his arms. Slumping on his bed, he allowed them to crawl over him as he picked up his own dinner. Butter eased himself up onto the bed, happy to curl up by Claude’s feet. “Ah, what a great end to a long week! Thanks again, Dimitri.” 

Claude didn’t often use his actual name, so the few times he did were very special. Dimitri felt his chest warm. “Of course, my friend. Welcome back. Your animals all missed you dearly.” _As did I._

Claude made an odd sound in the back of his throat as he shoveled mouthfuls of food entirely bereft of manners. It was an endearing sight, his cheeks puffed out with food… Dimitri looked away.

On Dimitri’s own chest, Noodle was busy trying to burrow past his tunic to no avail. He stroked her back, humming. “You missed Claude so much. Are you not tired of me by now?”

“She freaked out after you left,” Claude said through a mouthful. “I think she wanted to chase after you, but she wasn’t willing to let go of me either. She compromised by throwing a tantrum.” Claude was distracted from further speaking by the need to guard his meal from the kittens.

Over the course of their meal, Noodle bounced between clinging to him and clinging to Claude. Claude filled him in on the Golden Deer’s expedition, detailing little things that happened. The easy defeat of simple bandits and the good fortunate of their poorly disciplined horses. Telling ghost stories around a campfire, apparently enough to terrify Lysithea and Cyril. A vixen-call from a fox startling the entire class, and a forest filled with oddly friendly foxes.

By the time Claude finished his tale and meal, the room was dark with night and flickering candlelight. Claude yawned, setting aside his empty plate and flopping onto his bed. The kittens raced to take their favorite places against him (Sun slept against his elbow, Moon curled up at the side of his neck, and Star sprawled out over his chest with her paws reaching up to smoosh under his chin).

“Oh bed sweet bed, how I missed you!” Claude smooshed his face into his pillow and sighed. Dimitri swallowed, failing to rein in his urge to stare. Claude’s nose twitched, then he smirked. “Someone’s been using my bed, hasn’t he.”

Dimitri darted his gaze to stare at the window. “I’m sorry. Noodle refused to sleep in my room yet refused to part from me. How could you tell?” Could Claude smell Dimitri on his pillow? In a moment of insanity, he allowed his imagination to believe that Claude _could,_ and that he _liked it_ that way. Something _hot_ surged in his stomach. He pressed his lips tightly together in fear he might blurt something foolish.

“My bed’s actually made for once.” Claude waved a hand, not even opening his eyes. “I said you were welcome to it in my absence. Sounds like I should be the one apologizing for Noodle’s bratty behavior.”

“It was no trouble.” Dimitri refused to mention that he liked laying in Claude’s bed. Or that Claude’s bed smelled like pine and spice. Or that he liked the way Claude smelled. Because that would be weird. “I’ll leave you to sleep.” Dimitri rose and made for the door. He needed to return Claude’s house leader cape, but decided that would wait until morning. With any luck, Claude would be none the wiser of Dimitri’s borrowed attire. 

“Yeah, g’night. Hey, thanks again for taking care of them.”

“Of course.” He reluctantly slipped out of his room, softly clicking the door behind him. 

He made it two steps towards his room when something slammed against Claude’s door.

“Claude? What’s—” Dimitri opened the door and received an upset wyvern for his troubles. 

Claude sat up halfway in bed, eyes wide. “Did you teach her some bad habits while I was gone…?”

“Uh.” Dimitri’s hands hovered uselessly as Noodle climbed him like a tree.

“Huh. Guess she wants to spend the night in your room…” He frowned, concern and something else marring his features.

“Come now Noodle, you’ve been begging to see Claude for days! You’ve become quite the spoiled little girl, haven’t you…”

Claude yawned, slumping back down into bed. He patted Sun. “Anyone else want to sleep over at Dimitri’s? Last call, I’m tired.” The kittens were more than happy to snuggle against Claude. “Mm, well, g’night Dimitri, g’night Noodle. See you in the morning…”

“You’re certain you don’t mind?”

Claude didn’t even open his eyes. “Not gonna lie, I’m exhausted.” He waved a hand. “I’ll deal with this in the morning, ‘kay?”

“Very well…” He felt guilty for taking her from Claude. But Claude wanted to sleep, so… 

He left, going to click the door shut behind him. Noodle wasn’t satisfied by this however, immediately panicking before he even shut the door. She cried, leaping to jam her body into the doorway before he could pull it shut. 

“Noodle!” He repressed a growl of frustration. He pulled the door open fully, planting his hands on his hips and giving her a stern look. “What _is_ it?”

She scrabbled at his boots, reaching up to chomp down on his pant leg and began tugging him. Into the room. Towards the bed.

“Oh. _Oh!”_ Claude threw an arm over his face and began laughing. “She wants you to stay, that’s it! Hah!” Moon batted at his mouth, but he continued to laugh.

Noodle cooed, looking up at him with her big eyes. They were borderline impossible to say no to. She tugged on his pant leg again, leading him to Claude. She skittered up and onto Claude’s stomach, chirping at Dimitri. She paced a few tight circles before curling up. She kept her eyes on _him_ though, staring at him expectantly. She chirped again, her tail thumping on Claude’s chest and bothering Star. To the insane part of his mind, she seemed to be patting Claude’s chest to say _there’s plenty of room!_

Claude was no help, still laughing. Dimitri was grateful that he took to covering his face with both hands— Dimitri didn’t want to be caught staring, but Claude’s mirth was mesmerizing. He couldn’t help but wonder if his ghosts were right; that Claude might actually be a siren. His laughter was beautiful.

“Now Noodle,” Dimitri used the most stern tone he could muster. Claude’s laugh choked into a sputter. “Claude and I cannot always exist in the same space. You cannot misbehave every time something doesn’t go your way.”

Noodle whined, looking up at him with her big sad— 

_“Noodle.”_

She whimpered, turning her head to look at Claude. She gave the lowest, saddest of whimpers. Claude sucked in a breath. “Hey, don’t look at me! You heard him, he’s right.” Dimitri watched fascinated as Claude’s resolve completely collapsed in the face of Noodle. Claude turned his head, looking away. Noodle wheezed a soft whine, uncurling to clamber over Star and onto his face. She butted her head against Claude’s chin, his cheek, his forehead, making soft sad sounds all the while.

Dimitri found his own resolve wavering and she wasn’t even aiming her sadness at him. Claude stood no chance.

Claude huffed. “Stop that already…” He shifted on his bed, edging to the side and… _making room?_ “Final decision is up to you, Prince. You’re welcome to stay if you want.” He winked. “Don’t worry, I don’t kick in my sleep.”

Dimitri felt heat rise to his face. “Claude!”

“Mm.” Claude closed his eyes. A few moments later and his breathing leveled out. Dimitri stared, dumbstruck. Apparently Claude was _very_ tired. Noodle slowed down on her nuzzles, turning to beg Dimitri. She cracked her jaw and gave a quiet whine.

“Shh.”

She made another whine, slightly louder.

Dimitri grit his teeth. “Noodle, _please._ Claude’s asleep,” he whispered. She wouldn’t be quiet unless he complied. Truly, she was learning Claude’s scheming ways. The thought of Claude being kept awake by her whining all night long… 

“Oh, very well. Just this _once,_ Noodle. This is for Claude’s sake, not yours.”

Her tail made a few happy wiggles.

Reluctantly, he stripped down his armor. He took off his gauntlets and boots, then stripped off his tunic. He eyed his long-sleeved undershirt. The burn scars on his now bare hands stood out like a beacon. His eyes flickered back to Claude. He didn’t want Claude seeing the warped, disgusting texture of his hands. Biting his lip, he leaned over and blew out the candle. He would need to leave early in the morning before Claude woke.

He doubted he would find any sleep. He hadn’t slept much in the past week. He resigned himself to another long night of listening to his ghosts. At least they tended to be quieter in Claude’s room. Carefully as he could, he slipped into Claude’s bed. Not for the first time, he wondered why Claude’s bed was so much larger than his own. There was plenty of room for the both of them without touching. 

After a moment of hesitation, he tucked the blankets around Claude more thoroughly. How he could fall asleep sprawled half on top of his sheets was a mystery. Dimitri itched to properly tuck him in— to gently lift him and resettle him under all the blankets — but he did not wish to risk waking Claude. Nor was he particularly skilled at anything ‘gentle.’

He took a moment to just… look at Claude, illuminated in the darkness by faint moonlight. He slept soundlessly, relaxed but not fully. Dimitri repressed the urge to run Claude’s hair through his fingers. He feared Claude would wake at any moment and catch him staring. If that happened, Dimitri would claim he was staring at the kittens instead. 

Noodle warbled a chuff, leaning over to head-butt him. She chomped down on his shirt and tugged him closer to Claude. Unlike his tunic, her teeth could easily tear through his shirt. Given that that would expose his scarred arm… 

He followed her tug easily, scooting closer to Claude.

She flopped to curl up in the crease between him and Claude. He lay stiff on his back staring up at the ceiling. His shoulder just barely brushed Claude’s. What if he woke Claude by shifting in his sleep? He was hyper aware of every breath Claude took, every breath _he_ took. His shoulder felt ready to burst into flames.

Claude slept with a lot of blankets. Was he hot? Dimitri was hot. Maybe he should get up and push off some blankets? He didn’t want to sweat all over Claude’s bed. But what if that woke Claude? What if— 

“So tense…” Claude mumbled quietly. In the silence of the room, he might as well have shouted. Claude’s eyes remained closed as he shifted ever so slightly towards him. Then he felt Claude’s hair brush against his neck.

Dimitri couldn’t remember how to breathe. Claude, in his sleep, tucked himself against Dimitri, pressing the side of his head into Dimitri’s neck. He yearned to card through Claude’s hair, to _feel_ if the hair was truly as soft and inviting as it looked and smelled. It felt impossibly soft against his neck.

He forced himself to match Claude’s breathing. He didn’t want to wake Claude up by hyperventilating. He needed to calm down. They were merely sharing a bed, for Noodle’s sake. That was all. Nevermind Claude fitting against him like he belonged there. Nevermind Claude’s heavenly scent replacing his air supply and expelling all thought from his brain. 

His eyelids felt heavy and he allowed himself to close them. Claude’s scent was crisp and encompassing, pine needles and scented hair oil. His scent was so much stronger now that he was present. Claude’s features invaded the back of his eyelids. His brilliant smile, his bright eyes, the sweet looks he gave when he thought no one was watching… it all played over and over. Claude’s laugh, his silky voice. _Claude…_

It was _too_ perfect. Too perfect to be real. Claude’s class wasn’t due to return until the next morning— his tired mind must have conjured the idea of Claude returning early. It was the only explanation. The smell of Claude’s bed and the warmth of his blankets were fooling his mind. Intrusive thoughts of Claude were more common than not these days. The warmth tucked into his side was nothing but fantasy. 

He was dreaming. Real life would never bless him with something so sweet, so he _must_ be dreaming. And if he was dreaming… why hold back? 

His dream was mundane and more lovely for it: to have and hold Claude with no compunture. To murmur aloud the truth of Claude’s beauty and captivating presence. To ghost his fingers over Claude’s cheek, to feel as the skin grew feverish. To press a soft kiss to Claude’s forehead, to savor the hitch in Claude’s breathing.

He smoothed a hand through Claude’s hair. His dream did not disappoint— the hair was _soft._ He threaded through the impossibly soft hair, petting him as one might a cat. His dream treated him to Claude heaving a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan. In a short snatch of time Claude melted and fully relaxed, surrendering himself completely to _Dimitri._

Like a sailor lost at sea he dipped above and below the waves of sleep. In his snatches of being awake, his room was dark, empty, and silent with a strange comforting warmth enveloping him. In these snatches of being awake, he craved for Claude to fill his empty bed. 

In his dreams, he tended to the siren that stole his breath beneath the waves. He pressed chaste kisses to his head, his temple, his cheek, his jaw, down to his throat. When he came to his siren’s collar, he returned to the top to begin all over again until he grew too breathless and was forced to surface into the lonely moments of wakefulness. Between the waves of dream and reality, he clung to the sweet creature in his arms, unwilling to ever release such a perfect being.

Dawn’s light brought him back to the surface. He sighed, already missing his dream. It was so nice to dream peacefully for once. He found himself sleeping better when Noodle or Butter stayed with him. Many of those peaceful dreams involved Claude, but none had been so sweet as this.

So warm and solid in his arms, safe from harm. _Claude, all to himself._ For Claude to press up against him just as he pressed up against Claude… 

He opened his eyes. For the first time in many years, he sent his thanks to the Goddess. For it must be a miracle that he was blessed with such a sight.

The barest hint of dawn’s light played with Claude’s locks, highlighting the waves and curls of his untamable hair. He _longed_ to run his fingers through the soft hair just as he had in his dream. To recreate in Claude the way the siren in his dreams gasped and sighed. His features were completely at ease. Even the night before he hadn’t been so relaxed, not until Dimitri began to dream. It was as if Claude had no fears in the world as he slept, as if his dreams were just as sweet as Dimitri’s had been. As if he felt completely safe nestled in Dimitri’s arms.

A siren. Not of the seas, but born of the sky. It would explain his calling to the winds, his love of flight. The ease and grace that he flew through the air, beautiful beyond mortal comprehension. He wondered if Claude could sing. Surely his voice would be enough to make even the stone statues of Garreg Mach cry with his song.

_No,_ a forest nymph. Perhaps a forest nymph born from the heavens. Grounded to remain in the world below, adored by man and beast alike. Free and beloved by all things living, a spirit as uncatchable as the entirety of nature itself. To rest in _Dimitri’s_ arms meant that he put himself there willingly, for no forest nymph would allow it otherwise.

He reached out to smooth a hand through the soft curls. He trailed down to the long lock of disheveled hair. Claude’s lips twitched upwards as he gave the faintest of hums. It was a beautiful sound.

There was a muffled noise, something between a snore and a huff. The noise drew his attention downward to something he was surprised he didn’t notice earlier. There was something big and hard pressed up against his stomach between himself and Claude.

Jutting from between their stomachs was something long. He squinted at the length. It wasn’t until the white thing twitched that he was able to identify it as Noodle’s tail.

He heard her snore again. He smiled fondly. Noodle slept curled up between the two of them. Remembering how much effort she put into sleeping with both of them, it seemed her wish came true.

_Wait._

He wasn’t asleep. He was awake. 

And he was cuddling Claude.

His first instinct was to fling himself from the bed. Lucky for him, he didn’t immediately do that, as that would no doubt wake Claude. He needed to extract himself very carefully. He could _not_ allow Claude to realize how thoroughly he had abused such an innocent invitation.

To his mounting panic and mortification, he realized he was _thoroughly_ cuddling Claude. One arm wrapped around Claude’s back, the other clutched at Claude’s slim waist. He wasn’t sure which was worse: his right arm that trapped Claude tightly against himself or his left hand that rucked under Claude’s shirt to grope his bare hip. 

_Oh no. He did it again._

He did his best to keep his breathing level. How Claude wasn’t woken by his pounding heart was a mystery. He slowly let go of Claude’s hip, carefully releasing his hold.

He found a second more dire issue: he wasn’t just holding Claude. Claude was holding him back. The brunette’s arms curled around his neck. His legs were wrapped around Dimitri’s. Releasing his own hold on Claude did nothing— in fact, Claude’s face scrunched up. It was both terrifying and adorable. He didn’t wake as Dimitri feared, instead mushing his face into the crook of Dimitri’s neck and squeezing him tighter.

Claude wasn’t going to let him go.

He lay there, panicking. If he tried to pry Claude off of him, that would wake Claude. If he waited, Claude would eventually wake up. He was trapped.

Slowly, he relaxed his arms back around Claude. He was already doomed anyways— might as well savor his last moments of heaven before Claude woke.

(Un?)fortunately, not a minute later Claude began stirring. Claude hummed, taking a long, deep breath before untucking his face from Dimitri’s neck. He cracked his eyes open, grinning lazily. “Morning.”

A lot of thoughts cycled through his head. He wanted to apologize, desperately so, and beg for forgiveness. He wanted to tell Claude how handsome he was, how strangely adorable he looked, how perfect he was. He wanted to ask Claude if he was sent down from the Goddess Herself as a gift for all of Mankind. Or a gift only for Dimitri.

“You drooled a bit on my neck,” was what came out of his mouth. He managed to clamp his mouth together before he finished his sentence. _‘There’s some drool on your lips too. I can fix that if you wish.’_

Claude sleepily blinked. “Oh. Heh, sorry.” His eyes slid shut and he mushed his face under Dimitri’s chin. “Mmm… five more minutes…”

“Uhh?” This wasn’t the response he expected.

Noodle wiggled a bit between them. Claude mumbled something unintelligible. Noodle wiggled more, prompting Claude to groan and pull back. He shimmied his lower-half, untangling their legs. He shifted away and Dimitri immediately missed his presence.

Noodle trilled, leaping up to lavish Claude’s face. He yelped before breaking into giggles as Noodle tickled his throat. _Siren,_ his brain reminded him. 

No one knew Claude’s origins. He simply appeared from nowhere a year ago. Perhaps he truly was a mythical being, plucked out of a fairy tale and into Dimitri’s life. That would explain the powerful urge to push Noodle aside and use his own tongue to steal the breath from him. To hold him down and kiss him until he squirmed, and to continue to lavish him with kisses even then.

Half-human and half-divine, he decided. Old fairy tales from days preceding the Seiros faith flickered through his mind. Tales of Old Gods taking mortal lovers, of birthing children both divine and mortal. Such tales were nothing but false myths, and yet…

From Dedue, he knew that outside of Fódlan existed other beliefs. Duscur had many gods— gods of the sky and earth, gods of war and sea, gods of so many things. When Claude was surprised by something, he never called out to the Goddess. No, he would say _‘Gods’_ instead. Perhaps it was blasphemous— no, it _certainly_ was— but Dimitri wondered if there existed a god of nature or of living things. Perhaps Claude was the son of such a god. It would explain his magical affinity for animals. It would explain everything about him. 

It was the perfect explanation. The exotic, unique facial structure. The untamable windswept hair. The way his eyes seemed to be a portal to elsewhere. His unreal beauty and unearthly charm. His unmatched sharp mind, his entirely unique perspective. The way animals found no danger from him, not like they might for any other human. Perhaps that explained his penchant for mischief as well— a chafing under human laws and rules. A siren, a nymph, a fairy, a demigod. Whatever he was, it didn’t matter. For the first time in his life, Dimitri understood the stories of creatures luring men to their demise. If Claude called out to him in such a manner, he would answer without hesitation. Such a thought should terrify him, but it didn’t.

“You look like you’re thinking too hard for such an early hour.” Claude was looking up at him with his otherworldly pretty eyes.

“A-ah, sorry. G-good morning.”

Claude snorted. “Still asleep? Or just not a morning person?”

“I… think I’m still asleep, yes.”

“It’s early. No need to get up yet.” Claude yawned. Then he flopped forward, hugging Dimitri around the middle and nuzzling his chin against Dimitri’s ribs.

_This_ was no half-asleep action. _This_ was not done while unconscious. Claude purposefully snuggled up to him. Claude could surely feel how his heart slammed against his ribcage and the heat blaring from his face.

Claude peered up at him through his long lashes. His little satisfied smirk made him look like a cat that stole the cream. “Sleep well?”

He was forced to look away immediately, lest he give in to the overpowering urge to do… something, something he wasn’t sure. “I did.”

“Good! Me too. And Noodle, apparently!” Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Claude stretched languidly. Against _him._ Claude rolled onto his back, his spine resting against Dimitri. He stretched his arms out, curving over Dimitri’s body to do so. Dimitri’s eyes were transfixed by a peek of skin as his shirt rode up. Claude made no movement to cover the indecent amount of skin showing. 

_Dear Goddess help him._

“Hopefully the kittens will forgive you and Noodle for hogging me all night long.” At the mention of the kittens, he tore his eyes away. At the foot of the bed, the triplets were curled in a pile on top of Butter. Noodle was nosing her way into the pile, dipping underneath Sun and flopping her legs on top of Star. Moon squeaked and bopped Noodle’s face before settling into a more comfortable position. Butter opened a single eye, evidently determined everything was fine, and went back to sleep. A few wiggles later and Noodle was fully integrated into the pile. The combined warmth of the kittens and Butter was Noodle’s third favorite place to sleep. It seemed he and Claude were moving around too much for her taste.

“I’m… sorry?”

“Pff. Don’t need to apologize to me!” He finished stretching, bonelessly melting against Dimitri. He still didn’t pull up his shirt, leaving his stomach exposed. He basked in the morning light like a cat. On top of _Dimitri._ He was so relaxed. Dimitri couldn’t relate. “This is nice. We should do this more often.”

“Yes,” he replied without thought. His focus was captured by how lithe Claude truly was. His usual loose uniform hid what his current nightwear did not: Claude was… willowy. He was all lean muscle and slender grace. For such a powerful archer, his arms were thin. His shoulders were wiry with compact muscle, but without his puffy uniform he seemed impossibly small. His exposed stomach was chiseled but slim, his hips curving out into a swell of powerful thighs and suppel—

He needed to stop thinking about that _right this instant._

He yearned to collect Claude in his arms and never let go. A dark, hungry part of himself whispered that Claude wouldn’t be able to break free of his hold. He could keep Claude all for himself.

Claude beamed at him. It struck him how important such an expression was. He’d only seen Claude smile like that at his animals and only when he thought no one was watching. But now Claude directed it at him. _Yes,_ he decided, Claude may very well have placed him under a spell. He didn’t care. He was _happy_ to be enthralled under his spell. Dimitri wouldn’t hesitate to cut down anyone that threatened such a rare smile. 

Before Claude came into his life, when was the last time he had a reason to exist aside from revenge? When was the last time he so keenly looked _forward_ to anything? Everyday was one to look forward to now. Everyday was a day to spend time with Claude (and Noodle too, of course). Claude wasn’t just pretty. He was brilliant. His kindness and compassion outshone the sun. His unending curiosity went beyond endearing. With Claude's aid, Dimitri had never felt so sure in his ability to find and deliver justice for Duscur. 

How he found Dimitri worthy of friendship was a mystery. But until the day Claude learned the truth about him, he would bask in every moment of Claude’s presence.

“I’m glad that you agree.” Claude shimmied himself closer to Dimitri’s face. Dimitri didn’t remember what he’d agreed to. Then Claude slipped over him, chest pressed to his back. A moment later and those dexterous hands were gliding through his hair. “Wow, you’ve got thin hair. It’s silky.” It was good that he washed his hair the night prior.

“Yours is soft,” he found himself speaking again without thought. “Fluffy.”

“Oh-ho, someone was touching my hair in my sleep, mm?” Again Claude’s voice was overly satisfied. He posed it as a question but his tone stated clearly that he already knew the answer.

“I-I’m sorry. I couldn’t help myself.”

Claude just hummed, methodically running his fingers through Dimitri’s hair. His deft fingers unknotted tangles effortlessly with Dimitri hardly feeling him do so.

He cleared his throat, willing himself not to say anything weird. “You don’t have to.” He swallowed roughly. “Do my hair, I mean. You can if you want to though.”

Claude’s hands paused. Then he gave a small laugh, resuming. “Old habit.” He was silent for a few moments. “Back home, Ama groomed my hair every night. In the morning, I’d return the favor for her.” It was a quiet admission.

A dark envy rushed through him. Claude grunted as he turned over without warning. He shoved his hand into Claude’s hair. “I can do your hair too.”

Claude stared at him with those vivid green eyes of his. Then he snickered. “Heh, no, stop that.” He batted at Dimitri’s hand. 

He pressed his lips together, frowning. “You don’t want me touching your hair?” But that woman… _Ama,_ that _Ama, she_ was allowed? He smoothed his hand through Claude’s hair.

Claude heaved a long hum, smiling as his eyelids slid shut. Then he frowned. “I said stop, yeesh.” Reluctantly Dimitri pulled his hands away. Claude shook his head, peeling his eyes open, half-lidded. His soft smile turned devious. “Aww, is someone jealous?”

He narrowed his eyes. “Who is she to you?”

His eyes lit up, grin growing. “You _are_ jealous!” He patted Dimitri’s head. “Don’t worry, you’re free to pet my hair all you want at night. By the way, you’re jealous of a bird.”

“A bird? Oh. Your hairstyle makes much more sense now.” His mind caught up with his mouth and he flushed. “I don’t mean that as an insult! Just that, ah, your hair is… tousled.”

Claude laughed, which was its own reward. “You’re extra honest in the morning!” _No, just distracted._

He cleared his throat, willing himself not to flush. “Your bird, then? What sort of food is _‘Ama’?”_

Claude huffed. “I don’t name everything after food. Technically I named her, but not really. Ama’s been around since I was a baby. One day, baby-me reached out to her and cried _‘Ama!’_ and thus she was named. To this day, my mom’s still pissed that my first word wasn’t _‘mama.’”_

“Oh.” His lips curled into a soft smile. “That’s very sweet. Ama’s been with you since you were a child, then?”

Claude just hummed. A moment later and he withdrew, sitting up and stretching. “Well, we can’t lie around all day, as nice as that would be.”

It clicked in Dimitri’s head. Claude had a lot of animals. He _slept_ with a lot of animals. In fact, he _always_ slept with animals. And it sounded like he’s been sleeping with them for as long as he could remember. And if his theory that Claude might not be fully human held any weight at all… 

_Oh._ Claude must not realize that sleeping beside a person— sleeping beside _Dimitri_ —wasn’t normal. It explained his touchyness and his brazen cuddling. Claude was used to cuddling and didn’t differentiate Dimitri from his animal friends.

He felt a low churn of disappointment. He longed to— to do things to Claude. To… kiss him. Shamefully, desperately, he desired to kiss Claude. But if it was _Claude,_ he wasn’t sure he had it in him to feel shame. Not that it mattered, as Claude viewed him on par with his animals.

Above the disappointment was relief. Claude was distracting. It would be much better for both of their sakes to only be friends. He was satisfied with that. He got to spend time with Claude. He would even get to hold him at night, providing Claude was serious about doing this again. Besides, Claude deserved much better than him.

Above the relief, he felt his heart fill to the brim. Was it love he felt for his friend? Yes, it must be. Claude must love him back as well, as a friend. He was so blessed that Claude felt safe enough around him to relax so thoroughly. 

_If Claude didn’t realize the strangeness of his actions, Dimitri wouldn’t correct him._

Claude was like Noodle when it came to physical affection. No— like a kitten! Yes, Claude was a kitten! Claude was merely a very, very affectionate kitten. Innocent, adorable, and very loving and lovable. 

He wondered if Claude might enjoy the underside of his chin being scratched.

“So, breakfast?” Claude asked. He couldn’t resist flopping his head back onto Dimitri. As if he could read Dimitri’s thoughts, he began rubbing his cheek against Dimitri, nuzzling him like a cat might.

He wobbled a smile, doing his best not to blush. “Of course, I would love to.” _A sweet kitten. So very sweet…_

“Great! Let me change and we can head out.” Claude stood up and threw off his shirt.

Dimitri snapped his head away like a whip in his haste to avert his eyes. He gaped at the wall, the brief image of Claude’s toned chest branded into his eyes. _Wicked kitten! Mischievous kitten!_

Claude cackled. “No need to be shy! It’s not like I’ve got anything you don’t.”

“A-ahem. I s-suppose… not?” He desperately tried to school his expression. Swallowing thickly, he readied himself. _Just a chest. Just a normal chest._

Mentally prepared, he turned back to Claude. _Innocent kitten innocent kitten innocent kitten—_

_“Grk.”_

“Like what you see?” Claude teased. His back was to Dimitri, bent over an open drawer. He wore nothing but his small clothes as he sorted through his dresser. He wiggled his rear, snickering. His… _well padded_ rear.

It was good Claude faced away from him because he physically could not look away. Claude’s legs were impossibly hairless. He absently wondered if celestial beings had less body hair. His legs were… perfect. Toned. Long. Beautiful. _Less absently,_ he committed Claude’s body to his memory. He had a worrisome amount of scars. And he was terrifyingly gorgeous. Frighteningly handsome. _Divine._

_Goddess help him._ He crossed his legs and prayed Claude was finished with his cuddling. If he threw himself at Dimitri again, Dimitri wouldn’t be able to restrain himself.

His theory _had_ to be correct. Claude was far too pretty to be mere mortal.

When he realized he wasn’t breathing, he finally dragged his eyes away. He stared at the wall instead, attempting to process what he’d witnessed. Preferably without melting his brain into soup, but that seemed to be a lost cause.

_Mischievous kitten. Playful, teasing kitten. Devious little scheming kitten. Beautiful, tempting, alluring— INNOCENT kitten! INNOCENT! Fluffy kitten, cute kitten, sweet kitten, snuggly kitten. NOT sexy kitten!_

“Hey, have you seen my cape?”

Perhaps Claude’s flagrant disregard for proper modesty was a blessing in disguise. Dimitri was far too embarrassed to feel any _more_ embarrassed as he nodded to his discarded cape on the floor. “It’s under mine.”

He caught sight of his discarded gloves. He nearly choked as he realized his hands were bare. He kept them hidden under the blankets, blessedly grateful he’d kept them underneath for most of the morning. He could only pray that Claude hadn’t noticed his disfigured hands when he’d started petting his hair.

His worries flew out of his head as he watched Claude wiggle into his clothes.

_Dear Goddess have mercy, because Claude has none._  
  
  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


“Wow, someone’s looking happy.” Hilda leaned into his space. “Someone’s looking _really_ happy.”

“I slept well last night.” He slept _so_ well. _Gods abound,_ he slept amazingly. He’d been dreaming of sleeping with Dimitri curled around him ever since the ‘accident’ after the Wyvern Incident. Reality was even better than his dreams.

He wasn’t sure how much of the night had been a dream. Pretending to fall asleep worked perfectly on the gullible prince. But he really had been tired. He wasn’t sure when reality bled into dreams. Apparently Dimitri _had_ petted his hair, which doubly explained why he conked out so hard. He never grew out of Ama putting him to sleep by grooming his hair. Unfortunately, despite her being in Almyra, he was still forced to deal with the annoying quirk when random animals (or Dimitri) decided to pet/groom his hair. He was 95% certain that the rest of Dimitri's actions at night were part of a dream though. Dimitri didn’t _actually_ kiss his forehead, or call him beautiful, or stroke his face. It was all too bold for the prince. 

Maybe he was a bit excited. Dimitri didn’t try to sneak away this time. He agreed to cuddle again! Cuddling with Dimitri was fun! And great! Claude was excited to do it again!

“I recognize that look. _Some~one is thinking about his prince~!”_ She nudged his shoulder. “I slept like a beautiful baby last night, and I’m not half as happy as you look.”

He reached up to pat Noodle, who quietly snored from where she curled around his neck. “Poor Noodle demanded to sleep with her two favorite people. At the same time. Which means _I,”_ he puffed out his chest, preening, “received some _fantastic_ cuddles last night.”

Her jaw dropped. “You _didn’t.”_

He winked. “I can confirm: Dimitri is incredible to cuddle.” The _best_ to cuddle with. Not that Claude had any experience cuddling with other people. But as much as he loved napping with cats or deer or miscellaneous critters, _none_ of them could compare to the cozy way Dimitri held him. That strength was _so_ unfair.

Hilda punched his shoulder. Hard. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you two finally got together!”

He rubbed his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. “We aren’t. What gave you that idea?”

“Uh?! The fact that you apparently _cuddled_ with the Prince of Faerghus?!”

“… So? It was just some friendly cuddling. You know, as friends.”

_“Oh no._ Claude, is this another one of those blind spots of yours?” 

“I don’t have blind spots. What are you talking about?”

“Cuddling isn’t a ‘friend’ thing.”

He tilted his head, side-eyeing her. “Yes it is.”

She slapped a hand over her face. “I’m sorry to break this to you, but people only cuddle when they’re _together-together.”_

“You’re not together with Marianne.”

She glared. “Way to rub it in.”

“Not what I mean. I definitely remember you sleeping on her lap.” 

Hilda opened her mouth, paused, then huffed. “Okay, look. I see where you’re coming from. I didn’t _spoon_ her though!”

He stared at her, his eyebrows hitting his forehead. _What did_ that _mean?_ His Fódlandi was excellent, but there were plenty of slang words that his mother and tutors never taught him. Sexual slang in particular had a 50/50 shot of going straight over his head. Usually context clues were enough to help him bluff through not knowing slang. But this wasn’t much to go off of. “Spoon? We didn’t… ‘spoon.’” Idioms were _hard_ bilingually.

“Oh really? Sure sounds like you two spooned!”

He rolled his eyes. “I told you, we just” —he waved his hands in front of him— “y’know. Like, hugged each other. In our sleep. Like good friends do.” _What the hell did it mean to spoon??_

“Dear Goddess! Claude! Good friends don’t cuddle! _We’ve_ never cuddled, and I’m your bestie!”

He hesitated. Hilda was right: _they_ never cuddled before. He knew that people in Fódlan weren’t as physical as the people back home. Was cuddling not normal among friends here? Back home it wasn’t uncommon for young boys to cuddle together. He’d always been excluded from those piles, nevermind never feeling safe to join anyways.

But… surely good friends cuddle in Fódlan. Right? What else did close friends do together when they hung out in private if not cuddle? Did people maintain a rigid distance at all times? He mentally crossed off ‘cuddling’ as a friendship activity with Hilda. Which was a shame, because cuddling was fun and his list of people he trusted to not stab him in his sleep was very short. (Dimitri, obviously. Hilda, if she wasn’t such a _prude._ Marianne was edging herself onto his list. Teach would only stab him if he deserved it, though he couldn’t imagine them cuddling with anyone.)

How could he forget: Fódlan was a land of prudes and killjoys. It had benefits. Back home, he had to be extra careful when people touched him. It was much easier for people to harm him when it was socially acceptable to hug a recently formed acquaintance. At least in Fódlan the social distance was something of a safety barrier. But Goddess forgive anyone see a naked body! Or, _gasp,_ engage in unprotected hand holding! How scandalous! 

Oh whoops, he’d shown Dimitri a lot of skin. Maybe that was why the prince went so quiet. Oh well. Teasing him was fun.

He boxed his uncertainty away. Knowing Hilda, she probably noticed his hesitation. But she wouldn’t call him out— that was why he liked her. He crossed his arms, shaking his head. “There’s nothing wrong with a little innocent cuddling. Ah, I see! You’re jealous.”

“Um, _yes_ I’m jealous! It’s gonna take _years_ of courting Mari before she lets me cuddle her to sleep.” She sighed, deflating. “It’s not faaaaair.”

_Years?!_ Hilda _had_ to be exaggerating (she did that often). Right? Desperately hoping she was exaggerating, he patted her shoulder. “Knowing you, you’ll charm her before the end of the school year. How can she resist having some quality cuddles with you? You’re her best friend— if there’s anyone she’d trust not to stab her in her sleep, it’s you.”

Hilda plopped her chin on her hands, staring at him far too intently. Eventually she shook her head and chuckled. “Never change Claude. You are adorable.”

“Excuse me? I’m _handsome,_ not adorable.”

She slapped her palms against his cheeks, squishing them together. “Adorable. So innocent. If Dimitri isn’t going to say anything, I won’t either. He must love snuggling with you, hmmm?”

He glared at her until she let go of his cheeks. “Of course he likes snuggling with me. I’m _excellent_ at snuggling.”

Hilda sucked in a breath, eyes flying wide. “Oh. _Oh!_ Oh Goddess Claude!” She doubled over and began howling with laughter. His smile slipped as he tried to figure out why she was laughing at him. “You— oh this is too good! Claude, Claude!” She slapped his back, tears pouring down her face. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it!”

“Quiet down, yeesh. You’ll wake Noodle with your howling.”

For some reason, this threw Hilda right back into her fit of laughter. “He’s not a _fox,_ Claude! Or— or—” she couldn’t speak through her laughter. “He’s not one of your snuggly animal buddies!”

“Ahah, yeah? I’m aware. C’mon, what’s the punchline that I missed?” Why _shouldn’t_ cuddling be a normal friendly activity? _Animals_ cuddle with people all the time, and that was never romantic! _Oh,_ so when it was a _person_ that was cuddled, _that_ wasn’t okay? 

Fódlan was complete bullshit. Maybe this was why the continent was so messed up. There were so many _rules_ about the most frivolous of things. Cuddling was _supposed_ to be relaxing. But _nooo,_ cuddling wasn’t allowed between friends, required years of courtship, was only a romantic gesture, and for some reason required _spoons_ to be involved. No wonder people never relaxed if everything fun was so complicated.

“Right. I’ve had enough being laughed at. I’m off to the library.” It was vital that he figure out what it meant to ‘spoon’ in the context of cuddling. What the hell were spoons used for in bed? Feeding each other? Smacking each other? Were they used for something dirty? Something involving sex? He hoped not, that sounded _extremely_ uncomfortable. Wooden spoons seemed like an awful way to get splinters. Metal spoons sounded agonizingly cold. Did Dimitri know about spoons? Maybe if he set a spoon out on his desk, in clear view, Dimitri would take the initiative and show him? Did he need two spoons? Or was Dimitri supposed to bring his own spoon? How many spoons were involved?

“Have fun!” Hilda wheezed. “Don’t forget to take your snuggle-buddy with you!”

Hilda’s insistence that cuddling wasn’t a normal friend activity held some interesting implications when it came to Dimitri. The prince wasn’t an expert in friendship. Or _any_ normal non-royal social interactions. None of the Blue Lions treated Dimitri like he was a person (except maybe Mercedes, he didn’t know her well). Claude would bet his favorite bow that Dimitri never had a regular casual friendship with anyone before Claude. He was childhood friends with a few of his classmates, but they acted with deference towards him (minus Felix, who didn’t count). They refused to even use Dimitri’s _name._ It was no wonder that Dimitri latched onto Claude’s extended hand of friendship— he must have been lonely.

He and Dimitri did all sorts of normal friend things. They studied together, read books together, hung out together, drank tea together, ate meals together, watched each other train, played board games together, went stargazing together, went on long rides together, shared their dreams for the future… Claude even convinced Dimitri to go exploring with him around the monastery past curfew a few times. He was slowly getting the prince to ~~goof off~~ scheme with him. He even managed to get Dimitri to feed him dinner once, joking that his fork was too heavy to lift so Dimitri needed to do it for him. Co-parenting a baby wyvern might not be a ‘normal’ friendship activity, but Claude wasn’t one to be bound by the laws of normality.

Wow he was really spending a lot of his free time with Dimitri these days. If he wasn’t in class, he was with Hilda, and if he wasn’t with Hilda, he was with Dimitri. And _yeah,_ he enjoyed some of those activities _more_ than just platonically, but that didn’t mean they _couldn’t_ be platonic too!

If Dimitri didn’t realize cuddling wasn’t a common part of friendship, Claude wasn’t about to correct him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Princess Noodle is MVP of this chapter
> 
> Dimitri: *Eating without being prompted*, *Bathing regularly*, *Sleeping better*, *Overall more happy*  
> Dedue: *Has already commissioned a wedding ring for Dimitri to give Claude*  
> Dimitri's Ghosts: >:(
> 
> Claude: *excessive snuggles* :3  
> Dimitri: I can handle this.  
> Claude: *Wearing loungewear* :3c  
> Dimitri: Goddess! I can see his bare ankles!  
> Claude: *Strips* ;3c  
> *Dimitri.exe has stopped working*
> 
> Reality: Claude walked out into the rain.  
> Dimitri-vision: Claude gracefully strutted beautifly, his charming charm blinding all that look upon his handsome bod. The Goddess is weeping because Claude is prettier than her, her tears glisten against Claude's steaming hot hot body.
> 
> Dimitri: I am drowning in pine for Claude, but this is okay. I shall lust from a distance and never do anything about it. All is well.  
> Princess Noodle: im about to ruin this man's whole career
> 
> Claude to Hilda: "Prince Pure over there is too dense to realize I'm crushing on him. He doesn't realize that I want to be lovingly held and to feel up his muscles. He's too innocent."  
> Dimitri: I want to kiss him and touch him while he's naked and build a family with him and marry him and-  
> Claude: "Kissing him might be too much too fast. That's a big step. I'm not sure *I'm* ready for that, so Prince Platonic totally isn't ready for that."  
> Dimitri: -and watch him while he bathes and make out with him constantly and-  
> Claude: "Maybe, um, oh wow this is embarrassing, maybe I want him to wrestle with me? No, too much, too much."  
> Dimitri: -and make love to him every night multiple times and-  
> Claude: "I'm just too sinful for his Faerghus ways. Guess I'll just have to settle for plain old platonic snuggling, constantly, maybe sometimes naked. As friends do. *Sigh* If only Dimitri wasn't so innocent."  
> Hilda: >:|
> 
> I kept thinking to myself: this is too much. Dial Dimitri back. But then I remembered: Dimitri is not known for his emotional moderation. Go ham. All the way. Make him ooze pine.  
> Things... maybe got a little out of hand.
> 
> Oh Claude. Naps with animals. Is snuggled by animals constantly, especially as comfort. Has been beloved by animals his entire life… yeahboi, CM!Claude loves to snuggle. Usually I hc Canon!Claude as touch starved, but in the case it’s kinda the opposite? He’s just so used to touch and absolutely loves it. His only hangup with touch is if he feels unsafe, otherwise he’s 24/7 cuddle material. (He WILL bring his bestie to the cuddle side eventually.)  
> Here's Claude von the-only-reason-people-dont-constantly-cuddle-is-due-to-stabbing-concerns Riegan's helpful scale of trust% vs touch:  
> 0%: No touch i stab  
> 20%: No touch i stab  
> 40%: No touchy i maybe stab  
> 60%: Warn before touch else i do a stab  
> 80%: Pls warn before touch else i accidentally stab :(  
> 100%: TOUCH GOOD YES HUG NOW
> 
> Note: I’m aware it varies from person to person on whether or not cuddling is an acceptable friendship activity. Hilda’s experiences are not universal (though reflect the majority of Fódlan’s nobility). If Claude had asked someone like Raphael or Leonie, he would've gotten a nice big affirmative on the cuddling for very-close friends. And maybe a hug ;)  
> Note2: Dimitri thinking of Claude as ‘exotic’ and ‘otherworldly’ and ‘not fully human’ aren’t really compliments. He’s well meaning, but it would probably really hurt Claude to hear himself spoken of in terms of being an 'other' to Dimitri.


	13. B-support required to unlock lap-seat*

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *: Animals and Flayn not included

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates (for all of my fics) might be a bit late, same with me replying to comments. My state caught on fire earlier this week, so I've had to evacuate. On the bright side, by now my town is out of immedient fire danger and I was able to return home last night. My home *should* be safe from fire, providing nothing goes horribly wrong. Tho with how 2020's been going, I wouldn't be surprised if some idiot decided to celebrate most of us not burning by lighting off a firework in the middle of town or whatever.
> 
> Smoke is awful though. Never thought I'd see the world turn blood red with my own eyes. And then _go to work_ like everything was normal. It's been a surreal week. Like seeing an eclipse, except the sun just doesn't come back (it's somewhat back now). On the air quality scale of 0-500, my home's usually ~10. A couple of times this last week it hit four-digits, and is currently still above 500. I know trees are supposed to lose their leaves and turn red and orange in autumn, but this is a bit much!

The sound of claws scratching at the classroom door halted Teach’s lesson. 

Everyone looked at him. He looked at Noodle, who looked out at him from under his cape. “Don’t look at me.”

“Anyone wanna take bets on which of Claude’s animals it is now?”

He rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and smirking. “Hey now, what’s that supposed to mean? Just because Noodle did it once, that doesn’t mean all scratching noises are related to me. Cyril’s cat does it too.” He pointed to Khalid-the-cat, who was snoozing on Cyril’s desk.

“15 gold on it being Butter,” Leonie put down.

“10 gold on it being one of his kittens!” Raphael slapped his coins on the desk.

“Ridiculous. Clearly it’s another stray cat that’s determined to visit him.” Lysithea pulled out her coins. “20 gold on stray cat.”

“Maybe it’s another young wyvern?” Ignatz suggested. “Um, 5 gold on that.”

“Such a lack of imagination.” Lorenz shook his head. “The only possible answer is a _bird,_ of course. 30 gold.”

“Wouldn’t a bird just fly in?” Claude sighed. He gestured to his classmates. “30 gold on all of you being wrong.”

Hilda laughed at him. “Any last bets? Marianne? Cyril? Professor?”

Marianne and Cyril both shook their heads. Teach stood. “50 gold. It’s a fox.” Teach opened the door and sure enough, a fox trotted on in.

“Technically I still win,” Claude chimed. “All of you,” he gestured again to his classmates, “were wrong.”

“Dear Goddess, _please_ tell me there aren’t another dozen foxes waiting around the corner.”

The fox approached Claude, because of _course_ it did. It unceremoniously hopped into his lap. “Wow. You’re supposed to ask permission before sitting in someone’s lap.”

Hilda snorted. “Oh, is that all it takes for you?”

  
  


* * *

  
  


“Remember how I said I’d let you name the next dog in my life?”

Dimitri turned to him with a smile already curving his lips. “Claude, good afternoon. Have you adopted another dog?” Dimitri’s eyes drifted lower. His smile fell away and was replaced with confusion. “That is a wild animal.”

“A wild animal that won’t leave me alone.” True to his words, the fox was entertaining himself by rubbing against his pants. “He’s close enough to a dog. If you don’t want to name him, that’s fine too. I’m thinking, hm… ‘Screamy.’ ‘Shrieker?’ ‘Screecher?’ Maybe ‘Melon.’ Oh, _‘Ice Cream!’_ You know, like ‘I scream.’ Eh, I’ll leave it up to you.”

“Thank the Goddess for that.” Dimitri ignored Claude’s glare and knelt down to look closer at the fox. “Incredible. He is remarkably tame.” Hesitantly, Dimitri reached out. The fox backed a few paces away, retreating to hide behind Claude’s leg. After a moment, he reached out a paw to bap Dimitri’s fingers. Slowly he inched closer to sniff. “Wherever did you find him?”

“Friendly fox forest, remember?”

“Ah yes, you mentioned that. He must have taken a liking to you, following you this entire way.” Dimitri smiled softly. “Perhaps the fox could be named Ilwynog? It’s old Faerghan for ‘fox.’”

“Ahem.”

“And you can’t spell that. Of course.” Dimitri shook his head. As if whatever _that_ word was could be spelled by anyone! He really should try to find a book or something to make sense of Old Faerghan spelling, but he had his hands full with basic Fódlan’s inconsistent spelling already. Seriously though, how did _Blaiddyd’s_ double _d_ make a _TH_ sound? “What about Reynard? After ‘Reynard the Fox.’ I trust you can spell the name of a children’s book character. That was Sylvain’s favorite story as a child.” The fox allowed Dimitri to pet down his head. “Reynard the cunning fox, outwitting all and surviving against the odds.”

“I’ll allow it. Renart it is.” _That_ was a name he could spell! He plopped down next to Dimitri, using the opportunity to press their shoulders together. Upon noticing his newly available lap, the fox darted onto him. “Renart the cunning fox’ isn’t some story about seducing women, right?”

After a beat of hesitation, Dimitri settled down near him to continue petting the fox. “It’s a children’s story! Well, I suppose he does trick a woman for his own gain. Have you never heard it? It’s a very popular tale in Faerghus.”

“Must’ve missed it.” He leaned over, resting his chin on Dimitri’s shoulder. “I’d be happy to hear it from you though!”

Dimitri cleared his throat, tensing but not pulling away. “Yes. Indeed. It would be my pleasure to share it with you. Tonight?”

“‘Course! My room?” _Cuddle time, yes!_

Dimitri’s eyes darted down to Renart. “He has brilliant green eyes, just like you. They’re very pretty.”

“Mine are, or the fox?” Dimitri sputtered, prompting a laugh from him. “Thanks Your Princeliness!” He batted his eyelashes just to get a further reaction from Dimitri. He wasn’t disappointed. “Go on, tell me my eyes are pretty.”

“That is merely a fact!”

* * *

  
  


Sequestered in the corner of the library away from potential eavesdroppers, Claude was trapped.

“You don’t even have any books.” Claude gestured to the empty table. “What’s the point of this?”

“Cease your prattling. This is for your own good. I must first ascertain how much work needs to be done. At best, there are a few books that will help and word of mouth can fill in the rest. At worst, you may prove so ignorant as to require extensive tutoring. Judging by the nature of this deficiency of yours, that duty falls to me.”

Leonie nudged Lorenz hard in the ribs. _“Us._ That ‘duty’ falls to _us._ As his friends and classmates! Cut him a little slack Lorenz. It’s not his fault he doesn’t know.”

“This is a serious matter. No one will care if it is ‘his fault’ or not should he blithely propose a toast during the winter solstice. He will offend everyone in the room at best.”

“Oh, huh. Never thought about that.”

His eyes darted between the two. “C’mon, I wouldn’t do _that.”_

“Oh? Care to explain _why_ such an action would be foolish, then? It _is_ rather obvious, so _surely_ you are aware.”

He had no idea, so he rolled his eyes and did what he did best: not answer _shit._ “Look, I have more important things to do than be insulted and told things that ‘everyone’ already knows. I am a part of ‘everyone,’ so why you think I need to be told is a mystery.”

“Wait, do you seriously not know?” Leonie looked dumbstruck.

“I just said I do. It’s just not worth my time.” 

He started to get up, interrupted by Leonie snatching his wrist. “If you knew, you’d tell us. But you’re avoiding the question, which means you don’t know.”

“Sit back down this instant Claude. This is for _your_ benefit, I remind you. I _could_ be spending my time penning a letter to my father of all the things you are ignorant of.”

“And why don’t you?” Claude shot back. “Here I thought you were willing to slander me regardless of truth.”

“I have never once spoken a single word about you that is not backed in truth! Perhaps were you not so evasive about everything, you—” Lorenz paused. “Ah. I suppose your evasiveness is to protect yourself in the event that the truth of your origin is discovered.”

“What did I _just_ say about slander, Gloucester?” Despite his abrupt outburst, he leaned back in his chair and grinned. “People have been saying things about my ‘mysterious origin’ since the day I was announced as heir to Riegan. You’re not being very original.”

“It’s one thing to speculate,” Leonie said flatly, “and it’s another thing to witness you offer breadcrumbs to a White Stag.”

“Deer love breadcrumbs! It’s not a big deal.”

_“To you,_ Claude. _Most_ people would show a _touch_ more reverence to a creature of _legend._ This isn’t even a matter of your lack of piety— do not think I haven’t noticed that as well!”

“Hey Claude, what’s the counterpart to the White Stag called?” Leonie asked.

He threw up his hands. “I have better things to—”

“If your next words aren’t at least a _guess,_ I will slam this book over your skull. Yeesh, we’re not going to hurt you if you get this wrong!”

“You literally just threatened me.”

“Because you’re being a stubborn ass! Now guess!”

He eyed Leonie and the book she brandished. He could _probably_ outrun her… 

“Attempt to run, and we will be forced to shout our lesson at you. Oh dear, perhaps the entire school will hear!”

“Also, I’ll catch you,” Leonie promised. “I’ll tie you to the desk like a caught deer if I need to. _Guess.”_

“Fine, fine, calm down. It’s not a big deal. The counterpart of the White Stag is clearly the Shadow Elk. Can I go now?”

Leonie and Lorenz shared a look. “Good guess, but that’s wrong. The Shadow Elk’s just a local story from my village. The answer is the Golden Doe. The White Stag represents the moon and the Golden Doe the sun. Usually metaphorically, but it depends on the interpretation. Their relationship is…?”

“Er, lovers…?”

“Siblings. They’re siblings. And proper offerings would be…?”

“Why offer something to one? I thought they’re so rare that _apparently_ they’re almost never seen?”

Lorenz pursed his lips. “There are specific circumstances in which offers are given to the duo. Usually only in ceremonial practice. Something a _Duke_ will need to know.”

“The _wrong_ answer is breadcrumbs and sugar cubes, apparently.”

Lorenz pinched his brow. “Dear Goddess. You truly know nothing.”

“More slander. I know plenty. I can recite the history of the Alliance right here and now.”

“You can recite the history, but the nuisance is lost on you… Do you know _any_ stories at all?” 

“I know a few! Obviously. Like, Renart the cunning fox!”

Leonie bopped him lightly over the head with her book. “Nice try. I heard you telling Hilda that Dimitri told you that _Faerghan_ story yesterday.”

Lorenz frowned, his hand moving down to his chin. “Were you never told so much as a single bedtime story by your parents in your childhood?” Claude did _not_ like the distinct undertone of _pity_ in his voice.

He mulled over his options. Evasion was serving him poorly in this case. “My mother wasn’t big on bedtime stories. The handful of times she did were usually stories from her own life. She didn’t have much of a head for storytelling.” His father had been the storyteller of the pair. “There’s more to life than children’s stories.”

“Stop being so cagey. Sounds like we’ve got a lot to make up for. Hey, this might actually be fun.” Leonie nudged him. “I’ve got an idea! We can get everyone together and share stories, just like the horror-story night! Everyone can tell their local tales. I bet Cyril would love to hear these too.”

“An excellent idea. I am forced to admit I am struggling to determine what exactly to bring up. Cultural taboos are a good place to start, but I find it difficult to think of any.”

“We can start by asking. Claude, anything you’ve found yourself confused on?”

_Yeah. Spoons._ Still hadn’t figured _that_ one out. He’d torn through all the courting books he could find to no success. He’d gotten desperate enough to read through a book on _wood carving_ because it had a section about carving spoons. No luck.

As much as he needed to figure out what spoons had to do with cuddling, he was aware he would be laughed at mercilessly, best case scenario. So he settled for another question that had been plaguing him.

“On the Fox Night, you said you were worried about angering ‘Forest Spirits.’ I’ve never seen anything in the Seiros scripture about forest spirits.”

Leonie colored slightly. “Oh. Eheh. No, that’s not really a part of the Seiros faith. It depends on who you ask.”

Lorenz nodded. “Superstition, mostly. Such as avoiding witch rings.”

“We call them fairy rings in my village. I don’t fully believe in forest spirits, but it’s better safe than sorry.”

“Uh-huh…”

“A witch ring is a circle of mushrooms. It is paramount that one does not disturb or enter one, lest misfortune or death befall them. Entire family lines can be cursed in the worst cases.”

Claude looked between the two of them. They _looked_ serious. “A mushroom circle. You really think entering a mushroom circle will, what, kill you? Certain kinds of fungus just grow like that. Oh, actually, it’s rather interesting! See, the mycelium — which is basically a fungus version of roots — they spread out in a circle underground. When they’re out of nutrients in the soil, they spread out further, which makes the circle bigger. At the edge of the circle is where the mushroom caps pop up. It _looks_ like a bunch of mushrooms, but really they’re all connected! Neat, huh?”

Leonie and Lorenz were staring at him like he was crazy.

“What? Mushrooms are interesting.”

“Claude. Do _not_ mess with witch rings.”

“Goddess above. I can’t believe we have to tell you this… everyone knows not to mess with fairy rings!”

“Riiight. Got it. Don’t mess with mushroom circles, and if I do, make sure no one is watching.”

Leonie slapped a palm across her head. “No! Sorry I doubted you Lorenz, clearly you’re right.”

The next few hours were spent being told a handful of stories. The Golden Doe and White Stag came first: Siblings that were meant to chase one another endlessly. Lorenz explained nuances between symbolisms and background history and all sorts of complicated confusing details. Leonie was a _far_ better storyteller than Lorenz. 

Apples, carrots, and oats were appropriate offerings to ‘mystical’ white deer, apparently. His objection that deer are sometimes ‘just born like that’ went ignored.

After that they traded turns telling cautionary tale after cautionary tale about mushroom circles. Claude elected not to mention that he’d hopped between his fair share of mushroom circles when he first discovered some in the woods near the Riegan estate. He’d even taken cuttings of quite a few — only a handful of which had been poisonous! Some actually tasted rather good.

There was irony somewhere that _Claude,_ a _heathen,_ was the one that was skeptical. _He_ was the one that occasionally spoke prayers to the land. As far as he could tell, these sorts of stories must have predated the Seiros faith, surviving in oral tradition and old wives tales. Fascinating how they melded with religion that held no room for them… 

Leonie’s tale of a kidnapped farmer was interrupted by the dinner bell.

“Right, well, thanks for the story, I’m off to—”

“Oh no you don’t! Quiz time!”

“But dinner!”

“You can have dinner afterwards! I sure hope you were paying attention!”  
  
  


* * *

“This is Flayn,” Teach stated, pointing to Flayn as if there was any way the Golden Deer didn’t know who Seteth's little sister was. She waved. “Be nice to her. She’s joining our class.”

On the chalkboard, out of Flayn’s line of sight, was written in bold letters:

**ANYONE WHO UPSETS FLAYN ANSWERS TO SETETH. DENY HER AT YOUR OWN PERIL. UPSET HER AT YOUR OWN PERIL. IF YOU DRAG ME INTO IT, THE GODDESS WILL NOT SAVE YOU.**

The class cheerfully greeted her one by one.

Flayn curtsied. “Thank you all for the warm welcome! I am so very excited to make friends with all of you.”

Teach cleared their throat, pulling out their Rule List. “Snacks are allowed. Do not be late, or I will drag you to class. Use of desks and chairs as improvised weapons is only permitted if the other person has it coming. Windows are not permitted for use as doors unless you are not caught. All drinks that are not tea are not allowed within my classroom and _will_ be confiscated, no exceptions. This is a tea-only zone. Time manipulation is strictly forbidden for students. Declarations of war are strictly forbidden, period. Fire indoors is strictly forbidden unless on a Thursday. Pets are allowed so long as they are not disruptive.” They gestured to the class. “Ask permission before sitting on any laps. Sit wherever you want.”

“Oh!” Flayn scanned the room. “My, such a lofty choice, and so soon…”

Claude expected her to go to Lysithea and Cyril’s desk. The duo were probably around the same age as Flayn (and there was always Khalid-the-cat available to pet). To his surprise, she instead approached his and Hilda’s desk. “Excuse me Claude, do I have permission to sit with you?”

He winked. “So, you want to sit at the cool-kid desk? Can’t blame you.”

Flayn’s face lit up. “Oh, this is the ‘cool-kid’ desk? I was unaware! How fortunate. Am I ‘cool’ enough to sit here?”

He noted Teach flipping the chalkboard around so as to remain unseen by Flayn. “So long as you’re cooler than Lorenz.”

She frowned, turning to Lorenz. “Excuse me Lorenz, may I ask if I am ‘cooler’ than you?”

Lorenz in turn directed a glare at Claude. “Ahem. You are a refined lady, and need not concern yourself with Claude’s opinion on who is ‘cool’ or not.”

Claude cleared his throat. “Flayn, you are far cooler than Lorenz.”

“Excellent!”

She proceeded to plop onto his lap.

He gaped for a moment as she made herself comfortable. He exchanged a look with Hilda that he hoped conveyed his bewilderment. Behind him, he heard Lorenz make an interesting sputtering sound. Leonie cracked up.

He thought about the chalkboard. Correcting Flayn would probably embarrass her. Which would upset her.

Well, it wasn’t like she was heavy or anything. He didn’t appreciate an unknown so close in his personal space, but so long as he kept an eye on her he wasn’t too worried about being stabbed. So long as Seteth **never** learned of it, he was fine.

“Aw Flayn, that’s so sweet of you,” Hilda said in a honeyed voice. “But don’t get you heart set. You’re not really his type.”

Flayn cocked her head. “His ‘type’?” She looked at him. “Type of what?” Her face fell. “Type of… friend?”

He patted her shoulder. “Just ignore Hilda. I’ll gladly be your friend! You’re sitting on my lap, so clearly that means we’re friends already.” He winked for good measure.

“Yes, the friendliest of activities,” Hilda whispered with heavy amusement. He elected to take his own advice and ignore her.

Flayn’s face lit up. “Ah, that brings me great joy! I must profess, I am not well versed in the art of friendship. My, I was unaware there were ‘types’ of friends! I am very curious as to the categories. Oh, what category do I fall in?”

_‘The damsel.’_ “That sort of thing takes time to judge. Now, we’ve probably held up Teach’s lesson long enough.”

“Oh, I am so sorry! Please forgive my lack of consideration, professor.”

“It’s no problem. Flayn, don’t tell your brother about the seating arrangements. I’m supposed to have assigned seating.”

“Teach doesn’t stifle our creativity like the other two professors.” He patted Flayn’s head. “So don’t mention this to your brother.” _Or else I’m dead meat._ “It’s a deer-secret. That means you can only tell other Golden Deer. Or a real deer.”

  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
  


Flayn asked to sit on a different person’s lap every day. Hilda, Raphael, and Leonie happily let her sit on their laps. Lorenz sputtered and turned red, but _‘could never deny a lady’_ and allowed her to as well. Ignatz shyly allowed her. She didn’t ask to sit on Lysithea or Cyril’s lap, instead sitting hip to hip with them when their turn came around. Marianne was the only one to deny her, which she took no offense to.

(Renart also occasionally barged into the classroom, claiming his lap every time. He had no say in the matter.)

“So Flayn,” Hilda began a week later at lunch, “who’s lap is the best?”

Unfortunately, he was fairly certain who her favorite was.

Flayn had requested to sit on _his_ lap during lunch, but having self-preservation he instilled that it was only something to be done in class. She sat pressed up to his side. He had a sinking feeling that if Seteth caught them (which he would, eventually) Claude would be in deep trouble. Seteth went after people for merely _looking_ at Flayn. Flayn liked to cling to him. According to what he’d learned from Hilda, that probably wasn’t proper Fódlan etiquette. 

“I cannot say. I enjoy sitting with everyone!”

“But if you had to choose…? I bet it’s Raphael. Bet his lap’s got plenty of room!”

Raphael slapped his thigh. “You’re welcome to see for yourself, Hilda!”

“Aww thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Raphael! You cannot offer a _lady_ such a scand—” Lorenz paused, his eyes darting to Flayn. “Ahem. Perhaps you should choose your words more wisely in the future.”

“Huh? What’dya mean by that? You can sit on my lap too if you want, Lorenz! Hilda’s right, I’ve got lots of room!”

Lorenz sputtered.

“I’ll take you up on that!” Leonie declared, laughing as she swung to plop onto Raphael. 

Claude narrowed his eyes, darting a look at Hilda. Raphael and Leonie clearly weren’t together-together, but Hilda implied that level of casual touching was— 

“Commoners,” Lorenz muttered to himself. _Ah._ So it was okay for commoners to cuddle but not nobility. Good thing Claude was well known for bucking propriety.

Flayn hummed. “As I said Hilda, I enjoy sitting with all of you! But if I must choose… I suppose Claude has been my favorite.”

“Me? Shucks, is it my winning wink? My charming charm?” He felt a bead of sweat roll down his neck. If Seteth found out about this, he might need to skip out of Fódlan and change his name again.

“Perhaps! You exude a very calming presence. You are very, hm. Very pleasant to be around! I find myself brightening around you no matter what dour thoughts may plague my mind.”

“Dour thoughts? You? I find that difficult to believe.”

Flayn cocked her head, pressing against his shoulder. “What a silly thing to say. Of course I have dour thoughts! Everyone does in some capacity. Ah, but I find my worries melting away around you. It is actually somewhat strange. Something about you captures my attention.”

The table was silent. His smile was strained. “That’s… very kind of you to say.” He felt a looming doom, as if Seteth was standing behind him. He checked, finding no one. That sense of doom remained.

Hilda elbowed his other side. “You can’t lead her on. You have to come out and say it. None of your usual beating around the bush.”

Flayn frowned. “Say what? Oh my, have I brought you distress, Claude?”

He sighed, knowing the entire class was watching him. “Nah. Flayn, you’re a very nice friend. However, I really need to make it clear that while I don’t mind you sitting on my lap, I’m not interested in you romantically.”

Flayn blinked at him. He prepared himself for an onslaught of tears followed by the wrath of Seteth. 

She burst into laughter.

“Oh! You believe I have a crush on you!” Flayn threw back her head and laughed. _Better than tears…_ “My apologies, oh but what a ridiculous idea! Forgive me for giving you a false impression. _Me,_ having a crush on _you?”_ She continued to laugh. “My feelings are mutual to yours. You are not even close to what I seek in a romantic partner.”

“Glad to hear it.” She didn’t have to be so mean about it.

Flayn shook her head. “Thank you very much. I have not laughed so uproariously in, oh my, so very long!” She reached out to pat his cheek. “I am flattered, but you are too young for me.”

“Oh, Flayn likes her men older, is that right?” Hilda giggled. “I think I see why Seteth is so protective of you now.”

“Please. Do not bring him into this.”

Claude narrowed his eyes, curiosity prickling. “What _is_ your ideal age-range then?”

Flayn tilted her head, humming. “I suppose it depends. Someone late in his adolescence, or perhaps early into adulthood.”

“It’s not my age that you dislike then.” He winked. “Is it my hair? Don’t worry, you won’t offend me.”

“Whatever do you mean? Your hair is fine.”

He winked, pointing to himself. “Just on the cusp of adulthood.”

Flayn balked. “You? No, certainly not! You jest! You appear so young!”

He traded a glance with Hilda. “I’m… flattered?”

Flayn squinted at him. “I, hm. I do suppose your features are that as you claim. I was so certain you were the youngest of the Golden Deer.”

Lysithea burst into laughter. She wasn’t the only one.

Claude himself chuckled. “You really mistook me for being younger than Cyril? Hey, are you in need of glasses?”

She pouted, crossing her arms. “There is no need to be rude. I will admit, I am rather poor at guessing one's age. There is just” — she gestured wildly at him — “something about you! I cannot put my finger on it. You are very special and deserve to be cherished.”

Silence.

“Oh! That is not to say the rest of you are not special or deserving of being cherished! All of you are deserving, clearly. Gah, I am having such difficulty expressing myself today! It is quite frustrating.” Flayn sighed, looking up at him with a pout. “I suppose it matters not. You remind me of… a brother, perhaps? Nothing like my older brother. Yes, you make me think of a younger brother! Ah, but you are not so young… my apologies.”

“… Right. Are you _sure_ you’re not mixing me up with Cyril? He’s the Deer’s communal little brother.”

“I’m the what?!”

Leonie reached over to ruffle Cyril’s hair. “You’ve got no choice but to accept it!”

“Hey! Gah!”

While everyone was busy fussing over Cyril (ie: exploiting the perfect opportunity to embarrass and dote on him), Claude eyed Flayn. She was frowning, deep in thought.

He had to wonder why she thought of him as so young. Something about her wasn’t adding up. Between her crest, her brother (who held his own bundle of mysteries), her strange mannerisms and speech… add all that to her odd fixation on him. Her mysteries _begged_ him to be solved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: Hey Dimitri, y'know how I said you could name my next dog?  
> Dimitri: :D Yes! :D You got a new dog?! Can I see?! :D :D  
> Claude: I got something even better!  
> Wild fox: ^._.^ awoo  
> Dimitri: …   
> Claude: :)  
> Wild fox: ^._.^  
> Dimitri: Claude I was promised a dog. 
> 
> Edelgard: I declare war!  
> Claude: Hold up. Teach said that's not allowed. It's on the Rule list.  
> Edelgard: wha-  
> *and thus war was averted*
> 
> Reynard/Renart's name is based off of a European folk story by the same name. All things referred to as 'Old Faerghan' I'm using Welsh, as Blaiddyd is Welsh. I'm basing a lot of the Alliance's folktales, superstitions, etc. off of Western European ones, as I find the real world dichotomy between the christian culture and the pre-existing cultures to be fascinating.
> 
> By introducing Flayn into the GD, that should techncially date this as being in the Horsebow moon (September). However, I'm pretending like Flayn is recruitable like Cyril currently and that she hasn't been kidnapped yet as this fic isn't ready for autumn (and the obscene amount of warmth-giving cuddles Claude shall demand). I'm not following the calendar super closely (for once) as this fic is kinda my low-effort little-to-no-plot fic. So if certain events happen slightly out of order, er, oh well.


	14. Chronic Mail Theft (that's a felony!)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for some heavy racism in the second half
> 
> Dimitri has a good time. Hilda does not. Claude gets two naps- one he asked for, one he did not

“And this is why I don’t trust the mail system.” The owl gave a small _hoo_ but otherwise didn’t protest as Claude plucked the letter from its talons.

_Blaiddyd seal._ Dimitri’s mail. The prince probably wouldn’t be happy with Claude snooping through his mail. But how could Claude not?! It was in his hands! It wasn’t anything personal against Dimitri. He snooped through all the mail that came his way! Dimitri wouldn’t even know.

Weighing the letter in his hands, another idea came to him. A good way to test the waters, to see how much Dimitri trusted him. Not his most subtle scheme, but it should work… 

He knocked on Dimitri’s door, owl on one shoulder and Noodle on the other. As soon as the door opened, Claude gave a half bow (mindful of his passengers) and flourished the letter. “Special delivery for a very special someone!”

He loved watching Dimitri fluster at his antics. The payback was cathartic. “You brought me my mail? I apologize for the trouble. Is there an issue with the mail system?” He was interrupted by Noodle, who chirped her greeting and leapt onto him.

“Nope. I just wanted an excuse to bring Noodle to visit.” He invited himself into Dimitri’s room while the prince was busy situating Noodle. The room was agonizingly boring (or in Dimitri’s words, _organized)_ but it had more space than Claude’s room. He ushered the owl off his shoulder and out the open window. Unburdened, he flopped down onto Dimitri’s bed. Butter (who spent many of his nights with Dimitri now) eagerly greeted him. “How are my two favorite good boys doing this fine afternoon?”

Dimitri made a delightful sputtering sound. “If I didn’t know your fondness for Butter, I might be insulted being lumped together with a dog.”

“Nah, you wouldn’t.” He rolled over to hang his head upside down off the side of the bed. Butter took the opportunity to lick his face.

“No, I suppose not.” Dimitri settled down on the bed a bit away from him. “Might I have the letter you so thoughtfully came to deliver for me?”

“Of course!” He flourished the letter, flinging himself upright and into Dimitri’s space. He nudged Dimitri’s shoulder with his own, sitting thigh-to-thigh with him. He plopped the letter onto his lap. “Ta-da! Letter successfully delivered.”

“Thank you.” He set the letter aside. “I’ll read it later.”

“What if it’s something important? You should read it now.”

“Were it important, it would come to me from Rodrigue rather than mail via owl. After all,” Dimitri looked at him pointedly, “owl mail can be intercepted.”

“What’s important enough to send you a letter, but not so important as to be ‘important’ important? Judging by the seal, it’s from another Blaiddyd. Which means it’s from your uncle, the Regent of Faerghus.”

“Correct. He has no interest in my life, but in the past few months he has faced pressure to pretend. Perhaps he is attempting to gain my favor before I ascend the throne — I cannot say. The letter is nothing but a waste of time, that I am certain of.”

“You should play it safe and read it just in case.”

Dimitri frowned. “Are you truly so keen to spy on my mail?”

“No. If I wanted to spy on your mail, I would’ve opened it then returned it for the owl to deliver to you.” _Like he did with everyone else._ He rested his chin on Dimitri’s shoulder, ignoring the hard shoulder pad. “I’m just curious…” 

Dimitri fidgited. “I have told you the contents. You have no need to read my uncle sharing his doubts about me in written word. Now stop pouting, there’s no need for that.”

He huffed. _Pouting?_ He was _frowning._ Still, he eased into a smile and rolled his eyes. “As you wish, Your Princeliness.” He’d just read it some other time when Dimitri wasn’t paying attention. So much for this scheme of his. He’d been so sure Dimitri trusted him enough… A foolish assumption, really. He knew better.

Dimitri cleared his throat. “There’s some time before dinner. Would you like to read with me? I’ve been reading a fascinating book that I desire to hear your opinion on.”

Obviously he agreed. Despite the bitter little sting at his curiosity being rejected, he knew this wasn’t the end. If he continued his friendship with Dimitri, one day soon he’d be trusted enough to read his mail. In the meantime… 

“Here’s the book.” Dimitri settled back down on the bed. _‘History of the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus Land Disputes.’_ He flipped it open, looking for a specific page. Claude made himself comfortable, ducking his head under Dimitri’s house cape to use as an improvised blanket. After taking a moment to adjust it to drape over his head and down his back, he noticed Dimitri stopped flipping through the book.

“Land disputes between Rowe and Gideon?” Claude read off the page. Two places in Western Faerghus if he remembered right. “What’s so fascinating about that?” Skimming the page, it sounded like stereotypical noble squabbling. 

“Ah, no. My, um, my apologies. Wrong page.” He continued flipping. 

As he continued looking through the book, Claude entertained himself by cozying closer. He undid the armored shoulder pad. Dimitri made no noise to tell him not to (which was permission as far as he was concerned). He pressed his cheek against Dimitri’s shoulder, enjoying the bit of heat that seeped through Dimitri’s uniform. He swung his legs to lay across Dimitri’s lap. Noodle ducked over to his side of Dimitri, peeking under the cape. She squeaked, then licked his nose in greeting. He puffed a small laugh at her antics. 

His attention was brought back to the book by a loud _rip._

“Ooh, that’s rough buddy. That’s what you get for trying to rush through the pages. I’ve done that a few times myself.”

Dimitri clutched the ripped out page. He was frozen like a statue.

“Is this the right page?” Claude pointed to the page in front of the ripped one. “The Luna Knight… union of Blaiddyd and Riegan… Oh-ho, I see where you’re going.”

“No!” Dimitri slammed the book shut. Rather, slammed the book shut on his hand. “That, no, that wasn’t the section!”

He was helpless to the laughter that bubbled out of him. “No need to sound so flustered, Your Princliness! Unless you’re proposing a modern union of Blaiddyd and Riegan…?”

Dimitri made a croaking noise. 

He patted Dimitri’s back, deciding to be merciful. “I’m _teasing._ I never said what kind of union, now did I? Friendship is a type of union.” He winked. “Unless you’ve got a ring hidden somewhere? Noodle _is_ convinced that we’re wyvern-married.” _As well as every wyvern in the monastery._

“Ahem. P-please do not tease me so, Claude. You know I am poor at differentiating when you are being serious or not…” 

“How else am I supposed to acclimate you to my charms? It’s just a little exposure therapy, _dear.”_ He laughed harder, pressing his face into Dimitri’s shoulder and letting the house cape flop over to cover his face completely. “You’re so red! Ah, never change Dimitri.” He wrapped an arm around Dimitri in a side-hug.

There was a _thump_ as the book dropped to the floor. Slowly Dimitri wrapped his arm around Claude’s shoulders in return. Dimitri lifted the cape off of him, peering down with an _adorably_ red face.

He shifted up to press his cheek against Dimitri’s neck. He hummed. “You know, when you get embarrassed like this, you get warmer. Maybe I should keep you embarrassed all the time.”

“Please do not.”

“Maybe if you let me read your mail next time, I won’t.” He winked. “We can look through your book later tonight. I assume it’s more about Kleiman and Duscur. What do you say we try for a nap before dinner? I’m thinking a cuddle-nap sounds _great_ right now.” When Dimitri fell asleep he got extra cuddly which was _delightful._ Plus, Dimitri looked too tired to think properly. The prince did a fantastic job of hiding his fatigue, but Claude was catching onto his tells.

With his ear pressed up to Dimitri’s throat, he heard the prince’s loud gulp. “We took one yesterday. At this rate we’ll both go soft with so much napping.”

“Pff. A nap now gives us more energy to stay up later during the night. Besides, I nap all the time and I’ve yet to go soft.” _At least, not in body._ Dimitri was doing an excellent job of softening his heart. 

“I suppose I will agree to your logic this time.”

He pushed against Dimitri, attempting to shove him down onto the bed. After a few fruitless tugs, Dimitri sighed and laid down. Claude was right beside him, nestling close chest-to-chest. Dimitri’s bed was much smaller than Claude’s, making it a tight fit. Not that he was complaining. Noodle eagerly wrapped her little body around _both_ of their necks in a horseshoe shape, barely big enough to manage it. As it was, it left the two of them pressed close, cheek-to-cheek. Claude grinned against Dimitri’s burning cheek. “Who are we to deny our daughter her favorite pastime?” Butter even joined them, curling beside Dimitri’s back. 

“She’s very spoiled.”

“She deserves it.” Claude nuzzled against Dimitri, throwing his leg over Dimitri’s as he got cozy. “You deserve nice cuddle-naps too. I’m telling you, cuddle-naps are life’s greatest secret. Refreshing, safe, _and_ fun. It’s an amazing stress-reliever. No better way to treat yourself.” Dimitri, as much as he tried to hide it, wasn’t getting enough sleep on his own. Any amount of extra sleep Claude could squeeze into the prince’s schedule was good. Nevermind the more selfish reason. He _loved_ having someone else to nap with. Hilda was seriously missing out.

“You must have a lot of experience.”

“I’m a bonafide nap expert. Gotta say, cuddle-napping is a lot nicer on a real bed rather than the forest floor. All those poor deer in the forest are surely jealous of you.”

Dimitri cleared his throat. “I am honored that you find me worthy enough. I am sure you have many others that are willing to nap with you.”

“Sure. No big strong _lions_ though.” He patted Dimitri’s bicep. “Even if you are shaped like a triangle. Seriously, what gives? Your shoulders are twice as wide as your waist! Not that I’m complaining.”

“W-well, why are _you_ shaped like — like — ah, like…”

“Like…? If you say like a twig, I’m leaving. I’ll have you know I regularly wield a bow with 50lb draw weight.”

Dimitri tightened his hold ever so slightly. Claude bit his lip, remembering that he was walking a dangerous line. He didn’t want to explain himself to Dimitri if his mind wandered too far about that strength. “You are perfect just how you are. I must admit though, your uniform is… deceptive.”

_That’s the point._ “Pff, yours is too! I don’t understand how this uniform of yours hides your muscles. I’ve heard that black is slimming, but this is ridiculous.” He squeezed Dimitri’s bicep again, just because he could.

“And you puff yourself up like a cat trying to look bigger than it is.”

“I do not. I just like loose clothing.”

* * *

“Hey, guess who got a super neat letter!”

Claude tapped his chin. “I’m guessing Raphael.”

Hilda pouted at him. _“Me._ Dummy.”

Leonie cleared her throat. “We’re in the middle of something here.”

“I know!” Hilda plopped down between him and Marianne, cozying into the blanket. “I’m _devastated_ that I wasn’t invited to this cozy outdoors story sesh.”

“You were,” Cyril deadpanned. “I personally told you.”

“You woke me up! From my beauty nap!”

“It was two in the afternoon.”

“Yeah. On _a weekend!”_

Claude cleared his throat. “So, a letter?”

“Hilda, is this of vital importance? Can this not wait until the lesson has concluded?”

Claude mock-gasped. “Are you telling a lady she can’t speak her piece, Lorenz? How rude!”

_“Claude!_ That is not the case at all! Hilda, please, what do you have to share?”

Leonie slapped her forehead. “Really Lorenz, you fell for that? Claude’s trying to get out of this.”

Hilda heaved a sigh. “I _guess_ it can wait. This _is_ important to Claude’s education, after all.”

Claude clutched his chest. “Hilda! I thought we were besties! You’ve betrayed me!”

“So what’s the topic?” She asked, ignoring him. She got cozy by wrapping an arm around Marianne’s shoulder. “It can’t be _too_ awful given that no one’s fallen asleep.” 

“Not by lack of trying,” he muttered. This time they took their little ‘story session’ outside. It was a nice warm day and he would love to be napping.

Leonie pointed to the book sprawled out in the middle of the blanket. Luckily for Cyril, it was filled with illustrations.

Hilda opened her mouth, then decided not to say anything. He could guess what she almost said. _‘What? But everyone knows that story!’_

Lorenz cleared his throat, puffed up, and began speaking. “The cycle begins in the Great Tree Moon with the new year. The White Stag battles all who seek to claim his sister. It is, of course, the lofty Golden Deer who fights to claim the Golden Doe.”

“Is that the same ‘golden deer’ that our house is named after?” Cyril asked.

Lorenz nodded. “Indeed. The White Stag represents the moon, just as his sister the sun. By claiming the sun itself, the Golden Deer — who himself represents Leicester — has staked his dominance over all that happens during the day.”

Leonie elbowed him. “Enough boring symbolism.”

“Y’know,” Hilda interrupted, “I never did get where the Golden Deer came from. I mean, the other two are born in a cycle. But the Golden Deer just shows up from nowhere.”

Leonie hummed. “Never thought about it. I’m not actually sure where he comes from.”

“Um… I, um. N-nevermind.”

“Mari, don’t be shy! Do you know?”

She bit her lip, shrinking in on herself. Claude added his own reassurances (only halfway because he was dying to know, the other half because he cared about Marianne not feeling overwhelmed.) “No pressure Marianne. We’re not being graded here.”

She slowly nodded. “Um. M-my mother, um… she used to say that the Golden Deer was born in the east. S-since that’s where the sun, um… comes from. That there are a bunch of golden deer that live in the mountains… b-but, um, that’s probably not true…”

“Oh!” Cyril shot up. “That sounds like the, er, I guess the translation from Almyran is literally ‘gold deer.’ There’s a mountain that’s said to have a herd of gold deer. It’s on the northern part of the border, near where my old village was. It’s a sacred place, so most people aren’t allowed to bother the gold deer unless they’re priests or royalty or whatever. Killing one isn’t even allowed. My grandpa was a priest of the gold deer and it was his job to go and check on the deer every so often. Whenever he found a deer that died, he had to bring back the pelt and stuff. Their pelts are a really cool golden color, and sometimes the male have _real_ gold antlers. I mean, not real like metal gold, but like they shine and stuff.”

That had to be the most Cyril talked about Almyra in one go — not including Prince Khalid stories — and what a miracle, it was about something positive for once! Claude himself didn’t know much about the gold deer. All he knew was that they existed and that they weren’t supposed to be disturbed. He didn’t even know that royalty were apparently allowed to visit them.

Cyril seemed to remember himself, his excitement fading into an uncomfortable frown. “Not that it matters anymore. They’re just deer.”

“Huh. Makes you wonder if our stories are connected,” Leonie said. “So maybe the Golden Deer comes from Almyra. Wait, that means…”

“Absolutely not,” Lorenz interrupted. “The Golden Deer symbolizes _Leicester!_ It cannot come from Almyra of all places!” The irony was not lost on Claude. “Moving _on,_ we come to the Harpstring Moon.”

Leonie picked up the story, flipping the page of the book. “In the Harpstring Moon, the new couple grow to love each other, dancing together and springing flowers in their steps.” She turned the page again, turning it each month. “As the Garland Moon approaches, the Golden Doe grows heavy with child. Then, during the Blue Sea Moon, the Doe gives birth.”

“Hold on,” Claude interrupted. “How long has this deer been pregnant for? Deer don’t give birth that quickly.”

“It’s a story and they’re _magic_ deer. Don’t be such a spoilsport. Anyways, the Blue Sea Moon. At the fawn’s birth, the White Stag returns to visit his sister. The Golden Doe gives birth twice: once in the day, once in the night. The first fawn is born as brilliantly gold as her parents. The White Stag appears in his stag form, blessing his sister’s child. As night falls, the second fawn is born. The White Stag appears this time as the moon, his light blessing the fawn and bleaching his fur white. This fawn is taken away by the White Stag to be raised in the sky to one day replace him as the moon. Sometimes you can see him practicing in the sky as a shooting star.”

“So according to the story, these magical baby fawns will be born anytime now?” His own birthday was swiftly approaching, not that he planned to tell anyone.

_“Actually,_ yes,” Lorenz glared at him. “Tell me Claude, what holiday takes place this month?”

“Saint Cethleanne day. I’m not stupid.”

“Indeed. Now detail the ways Leicester celebrates the holiday differently than the rest of Fódlan.”

_Someday, he would strangle Lorenz, and it would feel so good._ “By celebrating the birth of the two fawns.” He could only assume, given the context.

“And we do that by…?”

_Smother him with a pillow, maybe. Wipe that smug look off his face._ “I’m starting to think you’re the one that doesn’t know these things.”

“Excuse you? Why, every single year I have participated in the annual — ah, you are attempting to trick me!”

“Yeesh, I knew it was bad, but do you seriously not know this stuff?” Hilda side-eyed him.

“Hey now! We’re not here to judge anyone!” Leonie swooped in. “In Leicester, we put out offerings to the Golden Doe and her fawns. This is usually mare’s milk and oats. In tradition of Saint Cethleanne day, we also put out fish. At night, we do as the other nations do and march a line of torches in remembrances of Cethleanne, mourning her death on the Tailtean plains back in the War of Heroes. But in Leicester we do a second walk back, this one joyus where we dance and sing. We both mourn Saint Cethleanne and celebrate the birth of a new sun and moon.”

Lorenz nodded. “Indeed. We also dip the torches in incense before burning them for a pleasant aroma. I was quite shocked to experience the more somber tradition of Faerghus when I studied there.”

“And after the march is done, we all get shitfaced!”

“Ahem. After the march is done, it is traditional to drink _some_ alcohol.”

“As much as you want!”

Hilda cleared her throat. “Maybe you two should warn him what _not_ to serve on the holiday?”

“Yes, thank you Hilda. It is of utmost importance that you _never_ sever venison or mutton. To do so is a grave insult.”

“Anything else?” he deadpanned. “Or are you going to keep telling me things I already know?”

Leonie rolled her eyes. “Moving on. During the Verdant Rain Moon, the Golden Deer teaches his fawn of the importance of humanity. The story is typically told with the saving of a shipwrecked woodsman, but it varies by teller. A man is taken in and nursed back to health by the family of deer. Tragedy strikes during the Horsebow Moon. The Golden Deer is slain by hounds from the south and his golden antlers are taken by a hunter. When the Wyvern Moon replaces the previous moon and the Golden Deer does not return home, the world grows colder as the Golden Doe grieves her beloved. The woodsman takes the young gold fawn under his protection and teaches her that mankind is both harsh and kind, one man killing her father but this other helping her. This is why the sun is both nurturing and harsh.”

“And this same thing happens _every_ year?”

“Shh. As the Red Moon first rises, so too do the red wolves from the north descend upon the land. The Golden Doe and her fawn are protected by the woodsman. By the turn of the Ethereal Moon, the fawn has grown into a brilliant Golden Doe. Her mother leaves the world and returns to the sun, but her grief will not warm the world for months to come. The new Golden Doe will meet her Golden Deer, though they are too young to couple.”

“Blah blah blah. The other moons happen, deer do deer things, ‘metaphorical’ war or whatever pits the woodsman against the hunter, humanity and duality and whatever, blah blah symbolism, then the cycle begins again next year.”

“Hilda, I’m not done yet!”

“Everyone gets the picture! Can I pleeeease share my letter yet?”

Claude jerked a thumb at her. “I vote for letter time.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t want to be quizzed.”

Leonie threw up her hands. “Fine! We can take a _break._ Intermission time. Go on, Hilda.”

“Yes! See, I wrote to my brother asking him a question. ‘Cause, like, Cyril’s pretty much out of his Prince Khalid stories. So I asked Holst if he knew anything about the guy!”

_Damn._ He should’ve let Leonie quiz him instead.

“You asked general Holst such a menial question? I do hope you wrote more than that to him. Perhaps, did you mention me in your last letter? Or my leadership skills?”

“Oh, sorry Lorenz! Totally slipped my mind. Next time for sure!” This was the sixth time she’d said that. “Turns out Prince Khalid _is_ a real guy! Told you so, Claude!”

“Where’s Holst getting his information from? Is he shouting out questions on the battlefield or something?”

Hilda rolled her eyes at him. “He probably asked the servants or something. How should I know? He’s pretty in-touch with what goes on in Almyra, as much as anyone can be. But listen to this: turns out, Prince Khalid _vanished_ over a year ago! Poof! Disappeared!”

“So he died,” Claude tried to steer the conversation.

“Maybe, but Holst doesn’t think so. When a royal dies it’s a big deal! If nothing else, people should’ve celebrated this guy’s death! But not a _whisper_ about him dying. Sounds to me like he went into hiding, or ran away or something!”

“Huh. Where would he have gone?” Leonie asked. “He’s real recognizable, right Cyril? Crazy eyes and weird skin and poisonous to the touch. It’s not like he could just move away and change his name.”

“You’re right Leonie. That would be ridiculous, no one would fall for that,” Claude lied, internally sweating. 

Hilda bobbed her head. “Yeah. If he ran away, he must have an elaborate disguise. If _I_ ran away from home, I’d change my hair first thing. Dye it and cut it into a different shape. Then I’d wear a hat and change my style of dress. Like, I’d switch to wearing baggy clothes instead of pretty dresses, and then no one would ever recognize me! Oh! I’d learn a new accent too!”

“That sounds like too much effort for you.”

“Well duh. I’m not on the run! But if I _was,_ that’s what I’d do. Only an idiot wouldn’t try and change how they look. Oh, maybe he used illusion magic to make himself look like someone else! Perfect disguise!”

_If he was an idiot, what did that make all the people that fell for his ruse?_ He twiddled his braid, not self-conscious about it at all. Nope, not at all. “An Almyran prince would surely be recognizable wherever he went. Maybe he hid away from people. Found himself a nice lonely cave or something. Or maybe Holst’s information is wrong.”

“Hey! My brother is not _wrong!”_

“Claude, do not disrespect General Holst!”

“Yeesh. It’s just a possibility, calm down. Anyone can be wrong.”

Cyril hummed. “I dunno how he’d get around the poison thing, but his eyes wouldn’t look out of place somewhere like here. Fódlan’s got a ton of eye colors. Shamir says Dagda does too. So maybe he just left the country?”

He needed a distraction _yesterday._ Claude snatched Hilda’s letter out of her hand, prompting a shout from her. He jumped away from her as he read the letter. In between dodging Hilda’s attempt to take the letter back, he read what Holst had to say. Hilda was pretty faithful in relaying what he said about _Prince Khalid,_ but she left out the bit at the end. “Oh-ho, someone got a scolding from her big brother!”

“Claude! Give that back!”

“Your fault for being distracted! Let’s see here: _‘My dearest Hilde—’”_

_“Claude!”_

_“Be he Almyran or no, any young man with compassion and good conduuurk!”_

Hilda choked him in a headlock as she plucked the letter from his fingers. “You’re the worst!” She kneed him in the stomach. He wheezed and hit the ground hard as she dropped him. “Hmph. I was _getting_ to that!” He doubted it. “I mentioned that Cyril was a hard worker in my last letter. For some reason, my big brother seems to think I don’t like you Cyril, which totally isn’t true!”

“You don’t act like you like me.”

Hilda gaped. “What?! No, I totally do! You’re super helpful! You always do stuff for me when I ask you to!”

Claude wasn’t the only one to wince at that.

“That just means you’re being lazy. How does dumping your chores on me mean you like me at all?”

“Because you _like_ to work! It’s not like I ask you to do everything, just the stuff I’m bad at!”

“You drop all your chores on me every time I see you alone.”

“Not true! You can say _no,_ you know! I thought you _liked_ being relied on! You do _such_ a good job.”

“Hilda, Cyril is already overworked. Us Deer _help_ him, not make his workload worse!” Leonie scolded her.

“I’m not overworked! I don’t need help!”

“U-um, can we, um, n-not fight…?” Marianne whispered.

“There’s nothing to fight about! I was _going_ to say something nice! Ugh, you’re so mean Cyril!”

“How is it mean to point out how lazy you are? Everyone knows.”

“Cyril! Hilda is a lady, you cannot say such—”

“Can it Lorenz! Cyril’s just being honest!”

“‘Honest’? Acting like a _brute_ is more accurate! After how long he’s lived in Fódlan, he _should_ know how we act by now! Yet he still acts like an Almyran!”

It was so damned hard keeping his face blank, especially with Lorenz flinging _‘Almyran’_ like an insult. He wanted to distract everyone from discussion about _Prince Khalid,_ and he succeeded. 

“Claude!” Hilda whined, “back me up!”

“Holst said you should treat Cyril with respect. This doesn’t sound like you’re respecting him to me.”

“How can I respect someone so rude?! Really Claude? You’re siding with _him?!_ You’re supposed to be on my side!”

Leonie and Lorenz were progressively growing louder. Hilda and Cyril glared at each other. Marianne bit her lip, eyes flickering between the two groups. _Why does it always come down to ‘my side’ and ‘their side’?_

“Say that again and I’ll punch that snooty noble nose of yours!”

“How common! Threats of violence!”

If he sided with Hilda, that would go against everything he believed in. But if he sided with Cyril, they might make a connection with him and his Almyran heritage. There was already suspicion about him not being from Fódlan — all it would take for everything to come crashing down was for someone to connect that _Prince Khalid vanished a year ago_ and _Claude von Riegan appeared a year ago._

“Enough!” He shouted. “There are no _‘sides’_ to this. We’re all Golden Deer here, Cyril included. Leonie, don’t punch Lorenz. Lorenz, don’t insult Leonie. Hilda, for the hundredth time, stop dumping your chores on Cyril! Cyril, don’t just _take_ it!”

“I am not insulting Leonie! She threatened me!”

“Because you deserve it!”

“Claude, we’re friends! Friends back friends up! Stop being a bad bestie!”

“If she doesn’t do her work, no one else is gonna do it! I’m not gonna let someone think I did a bad job because of her!”

Hilda turned her pout back on Cyril. “Why would someone think _you_ did a bad job? It’s my chore.”

“‘Cause I’m Almyran. That’s the only excuse someone needs to blame stuff on me. So I make sure it’s all clean, that way no one can say I don’t pull my weight. Unlike _you.”_

“Hey!”

“Um, Hilda… y-you always help me with my thing… e-even when I make a mess for you. You aren’t, um, you aren’t lazy. How come you don’t help Cyril too…?”

Hilda gaped. “That’s different! I’m actually, like, kinda good at the stuff I help you with!”

“So… you wouldn’t help me if it was hard…?”

“No! I mean yes! I would help you!”

“But not Cyril?”

“I _do_ help Cyril! Claude saw me, remember with the animals in the barn! I helped Cyril a ton!”

Cyril rolled his eyes. “Only ‘cause Claude told ya to. And I could’a done that myself.”

“Why won’t you guys agree with me?” Hilda sniffled. “I’m trying my best…!”

Marianne’s expression broke into panic, followed quickly by misery. “I’m sorry. I only make things worse. I told you I’m a horrible person!”

Hilda’s (fake) tears halted _immediately_ as she visibly realized the depth of her miscalculations. “No, no no no, Mari that’s not—”

Marianne clearly wasn’t listening. She pulled up her knees and tucked her face against them, beginning to cry and beg for forgiveness.

“Wow. You made her cry. You really are awful.”

“Shut _up_ Cyril! This is your fault!”

“Let’s start with not blaming each other,” Claude calmly said, guilt heavy in his chest. _Better this than them learning who he was._ Survival came before all else. “Getting angry isn’t helping anything.”

“This is your fault too Claude! Don’t pretend like you’re above this. None of this would’ve happened if you actually respected someone’s privacy for once! Oh wait, you don’t know _how.”_

“Really? You’re blaming everyone except yourself,” Leonie snipped.

“Hilda’s not wrong. Were you a _proper_ leader Claude, this discord never would have occurred in the first place.”

He hated the fact that Lorenz was (somewhat) correct for once. “Blame me if you want. But let’s calm down.”

“When it’s me I’m not supposed to ‘take it,’ but when it’s you ya just let people walk all over ya? You think I can’t take it? ‘Cause I can! If you think I’m weak, I’ll prove ya wrong!”

Claude _nearly_ snapped at Cyril. He opened his mouth. The words buzzed on the tip of his tongue. _‘This isn’t about being weak or strong!’_ he nearly shouted. _‘You can prove yourself a hundred times, but no one cares! They’ve already decided you’re weak!’_ was what he wanted to yell. _‘Stop breaking yourself into pieces for people that will never care!’_ screamed inside of him. _‘They never care! They never will! You can’t ‘prove’ yourself into people’s love! People like us never win playing by their rules!’_

But he didn’t say any of that. 

_‘Why is it always ‘us’ and ‘them’?’_

Something wet and warm touched his fist.

He looked down into two black eyes. Something wet and warm touched his cheek, and the spell was broken as he groaned. “Really? Right now?” The deer at his hand just licked him again. As did the deer licking his cheek. He closed his eyes and heaved a sigh.

“I can’t tell if this is bad timing, or perfect timing,” Leonie stated.

He pinched his brow, ignoring the tongues licking him. A fawn bounded over to him, rubbing against his leg. “In the future, if we have more of these story sessions, how about we _not_ hold them right next to the forest.”

“Oh yes,” Lorenz drawled, “because this was entirely predictable.”

He pushed one of the deer away from his face, only for a different deer to replace it. Glancing behind him, he saw the whole herd was meandering out of the forest. 

“You know, I’m surprised it took them this long,” Hilda said.

“Stop,” he told the deer, knowing it was useless. They never listened to him. One of the deer nudged him in the back, causing him to stumble. “No. I don’t want to take a nap. Go do deer things in the forest.”

Leonie snickered. “They’re joining our Deer-only party.”

Before he could say _‘real deer aren’t allowed’_ he was bowled over and sat on. “Dammit.”

“When I said ya shouldn’t let people walk all over ya, this wasn’t what I meant. Why are they doing that?”

Claude groaned. “They’re deer. It’s what they do.”

“This is like the fox incident all over again.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “This is normal behavior for deer.”

“You… think this is normal?” Leonie slowly said.

“He naps in deer piles a lot,” Hilda replied for him.

“What else am I supposed to do when they hold me hostage! Not like I can hold a conversation with one.” Plus they were warm and fuzzy. He wiggled under one of the deer sitting on him, dragging himself a few inches. He snagged one of the little fawns and pushed it in Marianne’s direction. “Mari! Take this, you’ll feel better.”

Marianne shook her head, still crying into her knees. For once in his life, the little fawn _actually_ listened to him, nosing over to investigate Marianne. 

  
  


Half an hour later and he was still trapped. On the bright side, everyone else was trapped too.

“I scarcely believe this,” Lorenz mumbled for the tenth time. A deer snoozed on his legs.

“Claude, I’m sorry I said you were a bad bestie,” Hilda said through a face full of fur. She was much less upset now that she had two whole fawns to snuggle. It also helped that Marianne stopped crying as soon as the fawns took to comforting her.

“Is it apology time?” Claude also mumbled through a face full of fur. He was flat on his stomach, multiple fawns on top of him. One of the deers laid on his legs, two bracketed his sides, and the last one acted somewhat as a pillow (that sometimes licked his face.) “Sorry I stole your letter. Nothing personal.”

Lorenz slapped his palm over his forehead. “The way you say that, it sounds like you snoop through everyone’s mail.”

“Not everyone’s, yeesh.” The mail owl didn’t _always_ stop by him before delivering letters. 

“That is not a reassuring answer.”

“Ahem. This is apology time Lorenz, _not_ nitpick time. Your turn.”

“Yes, indeed. Leonie, I sincerely apologize for shouting at you. It was quite unnoble of me.”

Leonie was the only one not trapped, though she had a deer beside her to pet. “Pff. I don’t give a damn how unnoble you are. In fact, you’re a lot better when you’re not so stiff. Since you don’t seem to get it, I’m pissed at you because you think I’m lesser for being a commoner. Plus the things you said about Cyril.”

“What? I said nothing about you being lesser. Our roles are merely different…”

The two of them got into a discussion on the topic. A _discussion_ where they didn’t _argue,_ instead actually _listening_ to one another and clarifying misunderstandings. Miracles were possible, it seemed.

“Cyril, I’m sorry I said that you’re rude sometimes.”

“No you’re not.” The blunt reply didn’t match with his look of ‘adopted fawn.’ One deer bracketed behind him, occasionally licking his hair. The other deer laid on top of him, occasionally licking his cheek. They were both heavily mothering him. 

Hilda blinked a few times as she processed his answers. “Um, I just said I was?”

“Don’t say you’re sorry if you’re not sorry. I don’t care if you think I’m rude. Lotsa people say that. At least you think I’m rude ‘cause of what I say, not just ‘cause I’m from Almyra.”

Hilda bit her lip. “Um, that’s actually really sad when you put it like that.”

“It’s my life.”

“Well, I’m not like those people! I actually know you!”

“Not very well.”

Hilda’s shoulders deflated. “Cyril, I… look. I’m trying _really_ hard here! Can you stop being so… blunt?”

Cyril threw up his hands, pausing to apologize to the deer he nearly slapped. “How else am I supposed to be? Want me to lie instead? ‘Oh Hilda, ya work so hard, you’re so dependable!’”

“No, definitely don’t say that. I’m trying to extend my hand to you, but you keep barking at me. It really hurts my feelings every time you do.”

“I’m not barkin’ at ya. Ya know it’s not a compliment to say I’m ‘good for an Almyran’ yeah?”

“Um… But it totally is? You’re not like the rest of them at all.”

“You’ve never met another Almyran in your whole life. How do you know what an Almyran’s like?”

“Well, my brother—”

Claude interrupted. “Your brother said ‘Character is what matters, not the place of one’s birth.’ Hilda, you aren’t listening to anyone but yourself.”

“Bwuh. I’m _trying!”_

“Hey Leonie,” Claude called. “You swing a lance pretty good… for a woman.”

Leonie’s jaw dropped. “What the hell Claude?! You wanna say that again?! I’ll show you a good swing!”

“And _that,_ Hilda, is why Cyril is offended. Please don’t kill me Leonie it was for the greater good! Think of the fawns and the Cyril! You’ll scar their baby eyes if you kill me!”

Hilda’s expression went through a journey as his example sunk in. “Oh. _Oh._ But I didn’t mean it like that! It was supposed to be nice!”

“It wasn’t. You’re rude, lazy, and you’re a liar.”

“You’re supposed to be apologizing to me, Cyril.”

“I’m not gonna say sorry for what’s true. I’m not sayin’ you’re a bad person. It’s just frustrating how little you care.”

Hilda frowned. “Um, what’s that mean?”

“I’ve seen you fight. You’re really strong, probably the strongest person in the Golden Deer. Lot stronger than me.”

“That’s not true!”

“See, you’re lyin’ again. I saw you lift a bandit in full plate like he was a straw scarecrow.”

“Um, it was the adrenaline…”

“You whine and complain, but you fight really good in battle ‘cause you care. You work real hard to keep everyone safe, even me. Like the time ya sprinted across half the field in order to block an axe when I got knocked over. Ya pay lots of attention to everyone and fight real hard for all of us.”

“Because you would’ve _died_ if I hadn’t been there!”

“When you actually do what you’re supposed ta, you do a good job. Ya help Marianne out with her chores, but not me. Which is fine, ya don’t gotta care about me. I’m not upset. I just think it’s dumb how much work you cause everyone. Wouldn’t be half as hard if you just did it yourself.”

Hilda was silent for a little bit. “You really are something else Cyril. Thanks for explaining, I guess. You’re still really rude. But I’m sorry I said you’re one of the good Almyrans. I mean, you’re good! So reliable. Um… but like, I meant it as a nice thing, so…”

“Hey Hilda!” Claude chirped, mimicking her high-pitched voice. He hated that she was being so _dense._ “You’re so sweet and nice. For a Goneril, I mean. I hear Goneril’s are all about fighting stuff and defending Fódlan. Everyone says they’re gruff and tough, but you’re not like that at all! It’s so weird that you’re so different!”

“Hey! My brother’s _super_ nice! Just because he’s tough doesn’t mean he isn’t a big softie too! But I'm not like him or my father at all, so don’t lump me in with them!”

Claude just _stared_ at her.

“Oh.” 

Cyril burst out a bubble of laughter. “Your expression’s all” — he tried to mimic Hilda’s thunderstruck expression — “I’ve never seen ya like that! Claude got ya really good!”

Hilda hung her head, giving a halfhearted chuckle. “Um. Yeah. He did. Cyril, I’m _really_ sorry. I mean it, like, for real.”

“Huh. I think I actually believe ya this time.”

Claude heaved a sigh of relief. Everyone made up. Best of all, everyone forgot all about the ‘missing Almyran prince.’ He petted one of the deer sitting on him with his only freehand. All it took was some cute, fuzzy animals. After all, no one could be sad or angry around so many cute deer. Flat out wasn’t possible. Which meant calm discussion, which led to understanding. 

“Claude?” Lorenz asked after a while. “How long before these deer move?”

“Anywhere between a couple of hours to a day.”

_“A day?!”_

“Hope you don’t have anywhere to be.”

“What?! No! I’ve got chores to do!” Cyril tried to push the deer off of his legs. The only thing this achieved was the deer moving closer and entrapping him further. _Finally_ someone else was suffering! It would have been much sweeter if Claude wasn’t also stuck under deer.

“Stop struggling, it won’t do you any good. These guys are stubborn about their nap time. Best to just relax and wait them out.”

“But I’ve got so much to do! This break has already been too long. If I don’t get back right now I won’t even finish by class tomorrow!”

“Don’t worry so much,” Leonie said. “Relax a bit, then when the deer leave we’ll all help you with your chores.”

“Hey! Leonie, don’t volunteer me for stuff!”

Lorenz cleared his throat. “Despite such menial tasks being far below my station, I concur with Leonie. It would not do to have you arrive at class already exhausted, Cyril. These trifling tasks of yours will be completed much faster in a group. Why, with merely my help alone I am certain you will be finished within a mere hour! Fear not Cyril, for there is nothing Lorenz Hellman Gloucester is not skilled in.”

“No! I don’t need help!”

Claude hummed. “But you said you wouldn’t be able to get it all done…?”

“I — I’ll just work faster!”

Hilda heaved a sigh. “No… Leonie’s right, we should help you. You already work so hard, not like you can go any faster without, like, hurting yourself or overdoing it. If _that_ happens, then we’ll have to do _all_ of your work!”

“You’re just gonna mess stuff up and do it wrong. I don’t want your help.”

“I will _not!”_

“You don’t even know where the water bucket’s at!”

“I totally do! You showed me! Wait, um, that doesn’t mean I’m good at refilling water troughs though!”

Claude couldn’t help but smile. Their ‘argument’ was much more lighthearted than before, without the stifling tension. The simple fact that Hilda and Cyril could act friendly(ish) to each other after such a heated argument was a good sign for the future. A distant future, but a _possible_ one nonetheless.

“Now that that’s decided—” 

Cyril grumbled, but didn’t protest.

“—we never did finish that story about the deer. Since we’re stuck here, might as well keep going. Plus we still need to give Claude his quiz!”

He joined Cyril’s grumbles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: Dimitri ur shaped like a dorito lol  
> Dimitri: Claude, you’re — _*don’t say kitten don’t say kitten don’t say*_ — …friend shaped?… _boyfriend shaped…_  
>  Claude: What was that last thing you said?  
> Dimitri, panicking: uh, I said husband shaped! Wait, oh hell—  
> Claude: Wyvern-husband? ;3  
> Dimitri: Yes! Exactly. Aha. We are husbands… by wyvern law. Yes. Only that… _for now._
> 
> Hilda: lol what kind of idiot thinks only changing their name is enough to fool people  
> Claude: I dunno, what _idiot_ would fall for that, huh Hilda?  
> Hilda: ??? Why are you glaring at me?
> 
> Claude: This is a dumpster fire. I need an adult.  
> Deer: We got u fam  
> Claude: no not you
> 
> Lorenz: What silly little peasant task shall I assist you with? Oh-ho, with my noble excellence we will be done in no time.  
> Cyril: Gotta chop wood, dust library, muck horse stalls, sweep dining hall, pet Khalid, maintain training weapons, clean floor, polish floor, wash every last wall in the monastery—  
> Lorenz: oh. oh dear  
> Hilda, already crying: I wanna go home  
> Cyril: I'm not done yet
> 
> Hilda still doesn’t really /get it/, but she’s taking baby sips of Respect juice. I like Hilda (obviously) despite her flaws. She’s got a lifetime of ignorance and casual racism to confront, and it really blinds her to the worst of her actions. It’s hard to write her making any real progress while staying true to her character, especially around Cyril. It’s not that she’s trying to be an awful person, but Cyril isn’t a good person to teach her (nor is it on him to do so). She insults him, then he pushes right back. Hilda, not realizing she insulted him in the first place, only sees Cyril attacking her for no reason. Claude’s the perfect person to ease Hilda into realizing where she’s screwing up, but he’s not often willing to risk outing himself (yet).
> 
> I find it really interesting that Holst himself isn’t particularly racist. Maybe that’s because he’s been in the thick of battle and has respect for the other side. I don’t know. I pulled Holst’s letter to Hilda this chapter from Hilda & Cyril’s A support (which happens earlier in this fic than in canon due to Hilda interacting more with Cyril/Almyran stuff and writing to Holst about it). The line specifically is: _“Be he Almyran or no, any young man with compassion and good conduct is worthy of respect. Character is what really matters, not the place of one’s birth.”_ Interestingly, this prompts Hilda to say she really respects Holst (“for the first time” lol rip big bro) for how “tolerant and thoughtful” he is. Which clearly means she values being tolerant and thoughtful. And I think this highlights the biggest part of Hilda’s racism: she doesn’t realize how awful the things she says are. This locks in with Claude’s ideal of ‘if people weren’t ignorant, we could get along’ really well. This might be a kinda controversial take, but I don’t think canon!Hilda has fully grasped how insulting she’s been to Cyril in the past _even in their A support._ Holst scolds her. And she agrees with everything he says. But she doesn’t express regret or even apologise. I can only assume this is because it doesn’t _occur_ to her that she should. She even tells Cyril _“I’ve accepted you from the start!”_ Which Cyril justifiably answers with _“That’s not acceptance. That’s relying on someone else to do your work.”_
> 
> And, fuck guys, I love Cyril. There’s no ‘but’ here. I just need to say I love Cyril. He takes no shit. Not from Hilda, not from Lorenz, not from Claude, not even from Manuela. Cyril will insult you to your face if it’s the truth. He’s so honestly savage in many of his supports, I love him. Thank you for coming to my Cyriltalk.
> 
> I skipped over a lot of Leonie Lorenz’s argument as it’s somewhat a rehash of their canon supports. I love how ingame they come to a mutual understanding of each other’s ideals. Also I love their dynamic (obviously). Feel free to imagine Leonie and Lorenz arguing (and slowly understanding each other) in the background of every scene they aren’t explicitly shown for the rest of this fic. I’m also aware that, despite Lorenz also being racist, he’s not getting spotlighted like Hilda. Lorenz is a potato of worms that I don't want to get into in this fic. He's a background character.
> 
> The ‘mythos’ of the Golden Deer, Doe, and White Stag is based off of the monthly murals. I took a few liberties oc. The torch-tradition for Saint Cethleanne day is based off of the Blue Sea Moon’s mural. Fun fact: The six stars in the sky are the 5 saints & Sothis (as an adult). Cethleanne is the smallest, kinda looks young but mostly covered up as she reaches out to Sothis.
> 
> OKAY this endnote is WAY too long. Next chapter is Claude n Marianne time!


	15. what if you... intimately preen my hair... with tl&c? aha just kidding bro... unless?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hilda!.... has to study, but gives a good pep talk. Noodle noodles herself further into everyone's heart. Claude's homesickness and feelings of separation get to him. Dimitri is still *HORNY GRIP*
> 
> In other news: business as usual... but spicy! (in Dimitri's brain/Claude dinner)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter I said this chapter was going to be Marianne & Claude. I misremembered the order of the chapters, my bad. That comes next chapter, sorry!

“Wyverns are smart,” Claude told Hilda. He tapped at a diagram in her book. “They’re on par with human intelligence, just geared in a different way. Some wyverns can understand human speech if they’re raised around people.”

“I don’t caaaare. I don’t _wanna_ learn how to ride a wyvern!” She thumped her head on the table. “This is too much work! When you asked me to come to the rose garden I thought we were going to drink _tea,_ not _study!”_

“Don’t whine to me. Whine to Teach.”

“This is _your_ fault. You’re the one that convinced the professor that I’m _destined_ to be a wyvern rider.”

“Better than heavy armor, right?”

“I just wanna be on the side-lines, ughhhh.”

“You have it lucky. Teach is trying to get me pegasus rider certification.”

“You _love_ Sugarcube. You have the unique chance to be a pegasus knight. You should be ecstatic!”

“Lances, Hilda. _Lances.”_

“Pft, that’s right! Heh, remember when you tried to get Dimitri to help you with lances because you wanted an excuse to watch him train? You immediately fell on your ass!”

“Yes Hilda.”

“And then you whacked yourself in the face with the shaft of the lance!”

“I remember Hilda.”

“And when the lance slipped out of your hands and flew across the training grounds? You almost took out Ingrid!”

“I know Hilda.”

“Oh, oh, and then you knocked yourself out by hitting the butt of the lance against your chin! I still don’t know _how_ you did that, but it was pure talent.”

“Are you done yet?”

“I’m just saying, you succeeded _amazingly._ You got Dimitri to carry you to the infirmary! He fussed over you all day!”

“I was unconscious the entire time he carried me. I had to spend all day in the infirmary.”

“Awww, turn your grumpy frown upside down. _Some~one_ noticed you were all gwumpy.” Hilda made an exaggerated pout, pointing to the white wyvern bounding over to him.

“Come to cheer me up, Noodle?” He bent down to scratch her head. She ignored his outstretched hand, instead opting to claw up his arm and onto his shoulders. “You’re getting too big to do this. Just ask next time.” He rubbed his arm, wincing at the scratches that dug past his jacket.

She buried her snout against his hair. Hilda cooed and he knew exactly what Noodle was doing. He wasn’t sure whether to sigh and roll his eyes or to pet her head. Regardless, he repressed the smile that wanted to break out.

She licked his cheek, then leapt off of him. “Hi Noodle. Bye Noodle.”

“Baby stopped by to give mommy a pretty flower.”

“It’s a developing bad habit of hers.”

Hilda snickered, tilting his chin with one hand and feeling the flower in his hair with her other. “This is a really nice flower.” Her smile fell. “Uh-oh. I think this is one of the flowers Dedue grows.”

“I really should break Noodle of this habit. Hopefully Dedue won’t be upset with a missing flower. If he is, I’ll just direct him to Dimitri, since Dimitri’s responsible for her right now.”

Not five minutes later and Noodle reappeared, scampering back to him with another big flower clutched in her mouth. 

“Noodle, you can’t keep stealing Dedue’s flowers. Stealing is illegal.” She ignored his legal advice, climbing up his other arm and depositing the flower into his hair on his other side. “No more flowers.” He booped her nose. She cheeped then raced away, dashing behind a corner and out of sight.

“So cute.”

He hung his head. “Great. Dedue was one of the only Lions that doesn’t glare at me.”

“Oooh?” Hilda leaned forward. “And why’s that?”

“You know why. Because I steal their dear leader away so often. I can’t help how charming I am.” He winked. “Then again, Ingrid has glared at me from day one. Felix too. Sylvain doesn’t glare at me, he just sort of… leers. I don’t think Ashe is capable of glaring. Annette doesn’t glare, she just pouts. And Mercedes gives me random thumbs-ups sometimes? Not sure on that one.”

Hilda wasn’t listening to him. She was looking behind his shoulder, grinning ear-to-ear. He whipped around.

And saw nothing.

“Nice try.” She giggled, slapping his shoulder. “I just saw a happy puppy dog, no need to look so suspicious!”

“Mmhmm…”

He was interrupted from questioning her by Noodle returning _again,_ with _another_ flower in her mouth. “Noodle, that’s enough.” She tucked the new flower into his hair. “Stop that.” He reached up to take a flower out of his hair only for Noodle to nip him. “Hey! Bad girl. No biting.”

She warbled, pushing the stem a bit further into his hair. She then stared at him. Somehow her wyvern-face displayed a perfect scolding expression. She chirped a rhythm of disappointment. Her wing slapped his hand away from his hair.

Out of habit more than anything, he replied to her chirps with a disputing one of his own. _He_ was disappointed in _her,_ not the other way around. “Do we need to have a talk? Do you need a time out?”

She darted a quick wyvern-kiss against his cheek and scampered away.

“I need to figure out a proper way to discipline her.”

He glanced at Hilda. She was crying muffled laughter into her book. He tugged one of the flowers in his hair in order to use it as ammunition against Hilda. He only succeeded in yanking on his hair. Somehow Noodle learned how to get the stem _really_ stuck in his hair. 

It took some time to get back on track (not helped by Noodle delivering another four big flowers and a batch of forget-me-nots that she meticulously tangled a dozen little bundles into his hair) but eventually they returned to studying. Not that his book was doing him much good. Lances were just really, really big arrows that didn’t need to be thrown. Why were they so difficult to use?

“Hard at work I see.”

“Your Princeliness, you’re a sight for sore eyes.” Claude rested his chin on his book. “Is it dinner yet? Can I be done with this now?”

“You’re the one that said we needed to study so long,” Hilda muttered.

“You’re learning about wyverns! That’s actually fun!” And maaaaybe he was getting a little bit of revenge on her for her treatment of Cyril. Shoving a little extra work on her here and there was good for her.

“What am I supposed to do with the fact that wyverns can do basic math? A toddler can do basic math!”

“Is that true?” Dimitri interrupted. “I didn’t realize wyverns were so smart.”

“According to mister wyvern-mama himself, they’re smart enough to understand human speech too.”

“Truly?” Dimitri looked down at Noodle, who perched innocently on his shoulder. “To what proficiency? How well does Noodle understand us?”

Claude waved a hand. “Nah, Noodle’s really dumb. She’s a baby.”

“Claude!” Dimitri cupped his hands over Noodle’s ears. “You can’t say that about Noodle! She is very intelligent!”

“She’s a baby. All babies are dumb. It’s nothing personal.”

“I cannot believe you. She knows plenty for being so young! She can even perform simple tasks that are asked of her.”

Claude snorted. “I can’t even discipline her into not stealing flowers.” He gestured to his hair.

Dimitri bit his lip and looked away. “Oh, ah, Dedue gave those to her. I, ahem, I see where she took them. They look very nice. In your hair, specifically. N-not that they _don’t_ look nice elsewhere, or that your hair doesn’t look nice without them, just… I am going to stop now.”

Claude cackled. “Aw, thanks Your Royalness! Do I look more charming?” He winked.

“As a fact, yes.”

He snickered. “So forward.”

“It is merely the truth. Anyone would agree. Don’t you, Hilda?”

“Mmhmm!” Claude narrowed his eyes at her. _She knew something._

“See? Ah, and look at Noodle’s wit!” Dimitri gestured to him. “She has enough dexterity to nestle the flowers into your hair. And she has spaced them as an artist might. Besides, you can’t tell me that she hasn’t learned from you. I was impressed beyond words when I learned that you taught her not only a simple command, but how to return the command as well!”

He frowned, cocking his head. “Command? What command?”

“This one.” Dimitri walked to the other end of the rose bush. He whispered to Noodle, pointing at Claude. He made a gesture to his hair. Noodle chirped, darting off of his shoulder to scamper around the garden.

“How did you do that so easily?” It was very rare that he could pry Noodle off of himself without a fuss. What was Dimitri’s secret?

Noodle bit into a rose and tugged it off the bush. Then she scampered over to him, climbed him, and plopped the red rose into his hair.

“You… taught her to put flowers in my hair?”

“N-no! Well, not exactly, she started it! I just, um, recognized a pattern that she, well, responds to! That was not what I planned to show you! I merely needed to get her off of me.”

Claude shook his head, laughing at Dimitri. “Suuure, if you say so. Say, are you sure it was _Dedue_ that gave her these flowers, hmmm?” Dimitri clucked his tongue a few times. Noodle darted off of him. Claude was still shaking his head as he stood up and walked over. “So what’s the ‘real’ trick you want to show me?”

“I, um.”

Claude tilted his head, planting his hands on his hips. “Well?” Noodle was happy to do figure-eights between his and Dimitri’s legs. Claude bumped up against Dimitri, flopping his head onto the prince’s shoulder. He hoped Hilda was jealous. He ignored the irritating flower stems pushing into his scalp. 

Dimitri’s eyes flew wide. “Did you not notice the trick?”

“What was it?”

“…Allow me to try again.” Dimitri picked Noodle up. He started to plop her into Claude’s arms but changed his mind at the last moment. He cradled her instead and pointed at Claude. “Wait here.”

Dimitri walked back to the table. Claude kept an eye on Noodle, trying to figure out what the ‘trick’ was supposed to be. Hilda didn’t seem to get it either judging by her frown. He threw his arms behind his head as he waited. Dimitri didn’t say anything, just absently clucked his tongue a few times.

“Are you going to tell her to do something yet?” Claude asked as he approached. “She’s just sitting in your arms. Hate to break it to you, but that’s no trick.” He bumped his shoulders against Dimitri again. He wished the prince didn’t wear those annoying shoulder pads, they got in the way of quality cuddles.

“Claude. I asked you to wait over there, didn’t I? Why exactly did you come to me?”

He blinked. “Whoops, sorry, guess you did. I’ll go back over. Is it a distance trick? Are you trying to get her to come to me? Again, not really a trick there.” 

Dimitri moved over to a pile of crates. “You’ll wait where you are, yes Claude?”

“Sure.” He caught Hilda’s eye. “What are you giving me _that_ look for?”

“I’m trying to figure out if I’m right.” She held her hands clasped over her mouth, frowning intently at him.

“About what?” He heard Dimitri clucking his tongue again, not really registering it. “Look at Noodle, not me. She’s the one that’s doing whatever this ‘trick’ is.”

Her eyes widened. “You didn’t even notice, did you?”

“Notice what?” He sat down on a box next to Dimitri. He looked down at Noodle, who chirped a praising chirp at him. He rolled his eyes at the nonsensical wyvern. “So? Are you pulling my leg? That’s not very nice.”

Dimitri was staring at him. “I asked you to stay over there.”

“Huh? Oh, I—” It clicked. His back went ramrod straight as he realized that he just _came to Dimitri._ He did it _three times in a row._ “How did—” he stopped speaking as he registered how high his voice came out. _How_ did Dimitri know?! That rhythm was specific to Ama, there was _no way_ he could have known!

“I noticed that you use that to call Noodle to you. She picked it up and uses it to call us to her. I wasn’t aware that you respond to it as well.”

Whatever he planned to say, it wasn’t the quiet croak that escaped his hanging jaw. In the back of his mind, he _knew_ that he did that. He’d just never thought about it. Anytime he called to Noodle, or to the kittens, or to Butter, or to anything really, he used the very same rhythm by habit. 

It was Ama’s _‘come here stupid child’_ call, one that she’d trained him from… pretty much birth, to listen for and respond to. Even as he got older and more exasperated with the mother-hen of a bird he still did what she told him. A quick response to her calls saved his neck more times than he could count. Considering she was back in Almyra, it shouldn’t have been a problem.

Hilda blew up with laughter. “Oh dear Goddess! Forget Noodle doing a trick, _you’re_ the one trained!”

“Did you truly not realize?”

He plastered his usual grin onto his face. “Right. How about neither of you ever mention this and I won’t be forced to blackmail anyone.” And then he could hide in his room and smother himself with a pillow.

“I’m so sorry Claude, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Dimitri looked like a kicked puppy. 

“No worries, I’m not embarrassed.” _He was mortified. His face was on fire._ “But if anyone else ever learns about this, I’m going to poison both of your meals. Yours first, Hilda!” It didn’t help that it was _Hilda and Dimitri,_ two of the few people whose opinion he actually somewhat cared about. This was what he got for relaxing his guard.

She still wailed with laughter. “You’re secret’s safe with me! Ahaha! You didn’t even notice!”

“I didn’t realize I still did that,” he grit through a smile. “Old habit.”

“I won’t do it again, I promise you. I’m so, so sorry. I thought you were teaching Noodle…”

He reined in the urge to bite his lip. “Hey, calm down, no harm done.” _Oh hell._ What if Dimitri used it against him? What if Dimitri called out to him and lured Claude into a trap? Ama was the only one that made that noise and he trusted Ama with his life. But now Dimitri knew it too (and apparently Noodle).

Hilda made some random clucking noises.

He whirled on her. “First of all, that was a horrible attempt. Second of all,” he couldn’t help the way his smile vanished, “don’t you _dare_ try to imitate that. It’s not for you.” Noodle crawled into his arms from Dimitri. She cooed at him. _Dammit._ He was just giving them more and more ammunition against him today.

He didn’t like the sharp look in Hilda’s eyes. The mirth drained from her expression. “Oh. Shoot, you’re really serious. Hey, I’m sorry I laughed at you. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I don’t care about that. You laugh at me all the time. Just — don’t try and mimic that. It doesn’t belong to you.” 

“How does a series of clucks ‘belong’ to someone?” Hilda carefully asked.

It wasn’t something he could explain even if he was willing. It was _Ama’s_ call for him, and it was _his_ call for Ama. It was special. Their own little language. A basic one, but a language he’d grown up with. The tempo of her calls, the rhythm, the frequency, the pacing, the volume, the pitch — they all had different meanings both subtle and obvious. _‘Come here’_ and _‘Danger’_ and _‘Stay hidden’_ and ‘All _clear’_ and _‘I am nearby’._ Little concepts. A quicker call might tell him she was losing her patience or was alarmed, whereas a slower call might convey tenderness or praise. There were no ‘words’ like a proper language. He couldn’t explain it, he just _knew_ it.

He couldn’t perfectly mimic Ama. He’d gotten rather good at mimicking all sorts of bird calls over the years, but it wasn’t the _sound_ itself that was the point. A chirp from Ama translated to a cluck from his tongue, a caw from her became a low shout from him, her willowy whistles were matched by his own sharper whistles. He mimicked her rhythm and patterns in sounds that came naturally to his throat. He’d done so for as long as he could remember.

Whenever Ama called to him, he trusted her. Sure, she was a bird and thus sometimes called him for stupid reasons, but he trusted her implicitly. So it made sense that he responded to her language instinctively. It was second nature. At the same time that he’d been learning Almyran from his father and Fódlish from his mother, Ama had been speaking to him in her own tongue. The concept of her language was baked into his understanding of the world whether he liked it or not.

He’d been repressing his Almyran for a year, but it never even occurred to him that he might let slip some of Ama’s calls.

He glanced down at Noodle, still giving him low coos. He wondered what other calls he’d accidentally taught her. He didn’t usually use Ama’s calls when she wasn’t around, but some things slipped through the cracks. 

A part of him ached for Ama to be here. He… he actually really missed her. He wondered what she would think of Noodle.

He heaved a sigh. “It’s not important. Just forget about it, okay?” He resisted the urge to fidget. Both Hilda and Dimitri were being given a clear sign of his discomfort and a glaring weakness both emotionally and physically. 

A wild falcon plopped onto his shoulder. His stomach twisted in wretched homesickness. He saw more birds in the sky, beelining towards him.

“Forget what? I can’t forget what’s already forgotten.” Hilda winked, but her smile was fake.

“I _promise_ you I will never speak of it.”

The falcon hitching a ride on his shoulder trilled, leaning up to preen his hair. He tensed, unable to stop a visceral scowl from forming. He shoved the bird off of his shoulder. It squawked and flailed. Evidently his scowl was enough to get the point across, as it didn’t try to fly back onto his shoulder. It flew away, and to his relief the other approaching birds got the message too.

 _Dammit_ he really missed Ama. Even her annoying fussiness. Before leaving Almyra, he’d never been apart from her more than a week at a time. Now it was over a year since he last saw her. He wondered how she was doing. What must she think of him being gone? Did she miss him? Was she worried? Or was she enjoying her freedom from fussing over him nonstop? Who was he kidding, that bird only knew how to fuss. Maybe she adopted some other kid.

“Hey, um, why don’t we go grab some dinner? You must be hungry! Cause _wow_ I’m starving! Nothing a good meal can’t fix. Don’t you agree, Prince Dimitri?” Hilda's grin was too wide, her eyes focused on him.

He pinched his brow, taking a deep breath and boxing away his emotions for later. He should smile and agree. Hilda was giving him the perfect way to put this behind them. But _Dimitri_ wasn’t the sort of person to drop something so easily. “I think I’m going to head to bed early. All that reading gave me a headache.” He eased back into a smile. “Don’t worry about me.”

Dimitri placed a hand on his shoulder. “Please tell me how I can make it up to you.” He practically _begged._

He winked. “I already told you, it’s not on you.” _Drop it already. Just stop._

To his surprise, he felt Hilda’s hand on his other shoulder. She was biting her lip and avoiding eye contact. “I _really_ am sorry for laughing at you.”

He was torn between feeling annoyed, touched, crowded, and some unnamed warm feeling. All with an undercurrent of pathetic longing. It was a disgustingly conflicting feeling. Despite the rosy undertones, he was in a distinctly sour mood. Not that he allowed that to show through. “I’m _not_ mad. Really I should be thanking you, Dimitri. Whether by accident or not, I appreciate you bringing this to my attention. It didn’t even occur to me. Now I’m aware of it.”

“Ugh, stop smiling! You don’t have to pretend to be happy all the time! It’s okay to be upset at us!”

“I’m not upset at either of you. It was an accident and a misunderstanding. It’s cleared up. I’m not even embarrassed anymore.”

“But you look so sad,” Dimitri murmured, head bowed.

“How can I be sad? I’m smiling.” He twisted a bit, warring between running and not. “Can’t we _move on_ already?” He itched to rest his hand on his hidden dagger. He _hated_ that they knew he was upset. _‘Just let me pretend!’_ he wanted to bark at Dimitri. _‘Why can’t you be like Hilda? Stop worrying about me!’_

“But—”

Hilda let go, patting his shoulder. “Sure we can. Don’t push him, Dimitri. If you haven’t learned by now, Claude likes to keep his secrets. It gives him hives to be truthful.” She could have said it biting, but she instead spoke with fondness and a wink.

“I’m sorry Claude. I can’t seem to do anything right by you.”

He cleared his throat and winked. “Hey now, pity-parties don’t make anyone feel any better.”

Dimitri wilted further.

“Why don’t you head to bed,” Hilda suggested. “You want to be alone right now, right?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. 

She rolled hers. “Oh come on. For you, you’re being transparent. You shoved that bird off your shoulder! You never shove birdies! Besides, you’re looking a little stabby right now. I haven’t forgotten the surprise-shank incident.”

“I still maintain that was your fault.” _Accidentally stab someone_ one _time and they never forget it._

“I still maintain it wasn’t, but at least now I know your pattern. C’mon Prince Sulk. I’ve been preparing a little pep talk for Marianne, but I need someone to listen to it first. You’ll help me, won’t you?”

“Let me guess, you’re going to tell His Royalness all of my embarrassing stories?”

“Yeesh, I’m not gonna kick you while you’re down! Your secrets are safe with me, Claude. Go enjoy some cozy solitude with animal snuggles.”

It was grating that Hilda knew him so well. “…Right.”

He might not have Ama around, but at least he had Vish. They couldn’t replace each other, but at least he hadn’t been forced to come to Fódlan entirely alone.

* * *

_“Claude’s a bit like a deer. He rarely shows it, but he spooks real easy. Don’t tell him I told you that, he likes to maintain his air of never being affected by anything. Don’t take it so personally that you set him off. I swear he has the_ weirdest _triggers.”_

Dimitri fiddled with the golden laurel leaves that Hilda had clipped into his hair.

His plan had been to go to the training grounds to blow off some steam. To train until his limbs shook and to keep training even then. Maybe if he trained hard enough, he could stop thinking about Claude’s expression. His smile, so absent of brightness… 

_“You_ do _want to make it up to him, don’t you?”_

_“More than anything.”_

_“That’s what I thought. Now come sit here, I need a model for my newest accessory. It’s only fair to Claude after you put so many flowers in his hair.”_

Instead of training, Hilda somehow spirited him into her room, sat him on her bed, and did his hair. With his knees knocked together and hands clasped, he’d felt rather like an embarrassed schoolgirl rather than the strong prince he was supposed to be.

_“So I know you’re totally upset that you upset Claude. You know what’s bound to make Claude feel worse? Seeing you upset because of him. Kinda silly how that works! Now I’m not saying you can’t feel upset too. It’s good that you care a lot about how Claude feels. You better care about how he feels! But if you make it all about yourself — how_ **you** _are so sorry, how_ **you** _need to make it up to him, how_ **you** _feel awful that you made him sad — that’s telling him that you only care about yourself.”_

_“That’s not true at all!”_

Now he stood outside of Claude’s door. His fist hovered an inch from his door. He’d been standing in the same spot for some time now.

_“Claude likes his space. Social butterfly he is, he likes being alone too. He gets a little, hm. ‘Twitchy’ is a good word for it. When he realizes his tells are visible, he always goes to hide for a bit to cool down and collect himself. If he wants to keep hiding, you’ll_ know _it. So you might as well give him a visit. If he answers without giving an excuse, you’re golden.”_

He knocked. “I brought you dinner,” he softly called. 

“Room service? Ooh, I feel special! Come on in, Your Princeliness.” He sounded normal. Was he annoyed? Upset? Exasperated? Angry?

_“You can spend forever trying to guess what goes on in Claude’s head and you’ll get nowhere. Trust me. He likes it that way too, so probably for the best that you don’t agonize over his ‘hidden motives’ or whatever. Waaaay too much work.”_

Dimitri entered, doing his best to smile. This wasn’t about him and how wretched he felt. It was about Claude. Claude wiggled a little wave to him from where he sprawled out on his bed. “I see Hilda used you as a model. Your hair looks nice.”

He swallowed, willing himself not to blush at the compliment. Most of Dedue’s flowers were out of Claude’s hair, now scattered on his desk. But a few bundles of forget-me-nots were still tangled in his hair. Claude was beautiful in yellow and green colors, but seeing him in blue was Dimitri’s favorite. Surely the fact that Claude left the blue flowers in his hair meant he wasn’t upset with Dimitri. Unless they were _stuck_ in his hair. Why did that sound more appealing to him? Why did he like the idea of Claude being _unable_ to rid himself of Dimitri’s blue? 

_Stop thinking stop thinking stop thinking._ “I’m, ah, uncertain where to place your food.”

Claude’s eyes drifted to his… ‘situation’ on the bed. “Okay all of you, you’ve had your fun. Time to go.” Sitting up, Claude failed to dislodged his ‘blanket.’ His ‘blanket’ consisted of Noodle, the kittens, Reynard, and Butter. “You can put the plate on my desk, I’ll get to it in a minute. _Off,_ get _off_ already.”

Claude had no luck prying his animals off himself. Dimitri knew his animals loved to cling to him, but this was more than typical. He attempted to pry one of the kittens off of his jacket to no success. Butter refused to so much as budge off Claude’s legs despite the way he pushed at him. The big dog just looked at him with a pair of sad eyes and he stopped. Noodle was lightly snoring around his neck, so obviously he couldn’t disturb her. Reynard was deceptively easy to pick up and remove — all for naught, as the fox just hopped right back onto Claude as soon as he let go.

Dimitri cleared his throat, already blushing at what he was about to suggest. “As it seems you can’t get up, and that your hands are likewise full, would you be opposed to me feeding you?” It was a miracle he managed to say that without stuttering.

Claude’s eyes did the cute little curvy thing that never failed to melt Dimitri. “My my, what a noble prince you are! This poor starving captive will eagerly take you up on your generous offer!”

Dimitri settled on the bed. This wasn’t the first time he’d fed Claude, but it was no less nerve wracking. The first time had the benefit of being a cheeky joke on Claude’s part. He hadn’t even been able to finish feeding him that time, not when he realized how thoroughly he enjoyed feeding Claude. It wasn’t proper for a prince like himself to enjoy such a thing. It made him feel useful and special. He _liked_ serving Claude. He _liked_ spoiling Claude. Claude enjoyed eating. He enjoyed food. And when Dimitri fed him, Claude enjoyed eating _because_ of Dimitri. _Dimitri_ was the one that made Claude happy. He _really_ liked that.

He collected a forkful of food and lifted it. 

“Take a little taste-testing bite for me first,” Claude said with a wink. “Just so I know you didn’t get dinner from Flayn.”

Dimitri obliged. “It’s rather good,” he assumed. He couldn’t taste it, though he could feel some of the spices at the back of his throat.

Claude winked again and closed his eyes, obediently opening his mouth. Dimitri indulged him.

_“No need to worry about getting on his good side. You’re totally already there, congrats. Buuut, if you want to do something really nice for him, bring him some food. If you want bonus points, I’ve got a little tip I’ve picked up about Claude. You know those expensive spices they sell at the marketplace? Claude’s_ very _fond of spices.”_

He snapped the fork in half at Claude’s long moan.

“I-is it good?” Dimitri was grateful Claude’s eyes were still closed. He didn’t know what expression he was making, but he was making a lot of it. _Goddess help him._ _Dimitri_ brought that noise out of Claude. _Dimitri_ made him happy.

Claude licked his inviting lips. _“‘Is it good’_ he asks me. Is it good? I don’t know Dimitri. Is fire hot? Are kittens soft? _Yes_ it’s good.”

“Oh. Good. I’m glad. I’ll let Dedue know. I thought you might like some comfort food…” He cursed himself. He wasn’t supposed to bring it up!

_“He’s going to want to pretend like nothing ever happened. He does that with, like, everything that involves himself. Goddess knows he’ll never stop prying if it’s_ your _secret. But anyways, in this case you should let him get away with it. If it’s super serious, don’t let him pretend he doesn’t care. Claude cares about a lot of stuff even if he doesn’t show it. In this case, let him set the pace. Don’t bring it up.”_

“Did you break the fork?” Claude’s eyes were open again. Wide and round and tantalizingly adorable. “You actually did. It — it’s snapped clean in half.”

“My apologies. I lost focus…” He heaved a frustrated sigh. Doing his best to look at the positive side, at least Claude was too distracted by the fork to notice Dimitri’s slip up. “I’m not a fan of delicate objects.”

“Wow. Most people don’t classify silverware as ‘delicate’ you know. What else can you break?”

“Claude! Please, my inability to control my strength is shameful.”

Claude cocked his head, narrowing his eyes. “Shameful isn’t the word I’d use for it.” _Oh dear,_ Dimitri recognized that look. Claude was curious. Claude’s curiosity was _far_ too endearing to be fair. _“Impressive_ is a much more accurate term. What’s the strongest thing you’ve ever broken?”

He bit his lip. At least Claude’s spirit seemed high. What was a little discomfort for Dimitri in the face of Claude’s joy? “I’m not sure. I suppose… erm, please do not make fun of me for this. When I was younger, I once tried to open the castle gate on my own. It's slightly larger than Garreg Mach’s main gate. I wasn’t aware that those sorts of doors are opened via a mechanism. I, erm. I manually forced the door open and destroyed most of the gears in the mechanism.”

Claude’s expression was frozen in that same curious grin. “The sort of gates that require multiple men to open?”

“I… assume so?”

“And you opened it. Broke it. Which would mean you not only opened the _massive_ door, but you did so while fighting against the gears.”

“Yes…?”

 _“Whoa._ My parents would love you.”

Dimitri choked back a sputter. _What did that mean?_ “Thanks?” 

Claude’s eyes were distant, no doubt deep in thought. Desperate to rid himself of the lingering awkwardness, Dimitri fumbled for something to say. “Are you thirsty? I brought some tea too.” He pointed to the teapot. He wanted to slap himself. _Obviously_ Claude could see the pot, it was stupid to point to it.

Claude blinked out of his stupor. “Sure, why not. What’d you bring me? Let me guess: chamomile?”

His shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry. I ran out a few days ago. I asked to borrow some from the professor, but they were out too. They gave me this tea instead.”

Claude managed to free one hand from under Butter and wave it about. “No worries! I’m curious to see Teach’s pick. Or rather, to _taste_ Teach’s pick.”

Dimitri nodded, shifting to focus on pouring him a cup.

“Have you ever broken a teacup before?”

“Many times. Here, you should hold it.”

Claude took the cup, bringing it under his nose and taking a deep whiff. His smile vanished and Dimitri’s heart sank. 

“Forgive me, is Almyran Pine not to your taste? I can see if someone has something else, anything else.”

For just a moment, he could have sworn Claude’s expression broke into something devastatingly sad. A blink later and he was back to a blank look. “It’s fine. Teach gave this to you? Their sense of timing is eerie.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologize. I’m not upset.”

_“I bet you want to say sorry, like, a million times, right? Don’t. Say it once and call it good. If you keep repeating it, it makes it feel like you either don’t think Claude was listening to you, or think he’s too dumb to know you’re sincere.”_

_“I would never think that!”_

_“Then why keep apologizing?”_

_“Because… I’m very sorry?”_

_“One and done. It’s annoying to be constantly apologized to. Wait, no, that’s too harsh. How can I phrase that so Marianne won’t think I find her annoying…? Give me some feedback here!”_

He swallowed his urge to apologize again. He watched as Claude took a slow but deep drink. His shoulders slumped as he pulled back, miserable expression returning as he eyed the tea.

Dimitri didn’t know how to fix this. This was a foolish endeavor in the first place. He was an utter fool to think he could cheer Claude up. It was his fault in the first place that Claude was upset. He was worthless, undeserving of Claude, nothing but a failure and a weak—

“Thanks,” Claude’s near silent whisper rattled through his skull.

“Would you like me to leave?”

Claude’s eyes drifted up to him. “No. I… I’d like you to stay. Just give me a moment.” He sighed into his teacup. “Heh. Sorry. This smell is nostalgic for me.” He seemed to war with himself. Seeing Claude without his usual smile was concerning. “You really didn’t do anything wrong earlier. I was merely surprised by… well. I suppose I’m feeling a little…” he trailed off, swallowing. His voice lowered into a breath of a whisper. “Just a little homesick. Rather silly, I’m aware.”

“Not at all. It can be difficult being away from what you know.” And if his theory as to Claude’s potential divine origin held any merit… “I suppose life has been a big change in this past year for you. Have you been home at all since you became Heir to Riegan?”

Claude’s smile returned, the flimsy one that Dimitri hated. “Nah. It’s not all bad. I love learning new things, exploring the world and seeing how diverse it is. So many mysteries to uncover! Hah, I’d go stir crazy if I went back home.”

“Is there anything I can do to make you feel more at home here?”

“You have such a kind heart,” Claude murmured, his eyes glued to his tea. “You’ve already done plenty for me. Thank you.”

He reached out to touch Claude before remembering Hilda’s last bit of advice.

_“Claude haaates to be surprised by touch. Seriously, trust me on this one. But I’m_ sure _you’ve noticed him with his cutesie animal pals. Don’t go spreading this around, but I hear he’s a big ol’ cuddle-bug when the mood strikes him, so long as he’s with the right person. Hey, remember when us Deer got back from our trip a week ago? Claude was super happy the morning after. He said he’d been hanging out with you. Maybe you should try cheering him up the same way! But make sure you ask first.”_

As insightful as Hilda was, he was certain he knew more on this subject than her. To call Claude a cuddle-bug was a gross understatement. Whenever he thought he had a handle on Claude’s physical affection, somehow the floodgate opened even wider. At times it was subtle. When they were in public it was small things. Maybe Claude didn’t even realize he did them. He leaned into Dimitri’s space. He touched him with the flimsiest of excuse. He wrapped his arms around his back, he knocked their shoulders together, rested his head against him. In more private moments, Claude never failed to latch onto him. Claude sat on his lap, curled around him, even at times _climbing_ on him. Claude tried to get him to _‘cuddle-nap’_ _constantly._

He was impossible to refuse.

Claude was the most affectionate person he’d ever met. Claude showered him with more affection than he’d seen from married couples! The ease and frequency of his touch was alien. It was brazen, deliberate, and _oh so lovely._ Claude behaved just like his kittens. Dimitri was trying his best to relax and return the affection that Claude freely gave him, but in this field he was a slow learner.

Claude was different from everyone else. _Special._ Dimitri could only chalk it up to being raised in such a different environment. Claude expressed his affection in the way he knew: inspired by the behavior of animals. Claude was as snuggly as a kitten and just as innocent. It was hard for Dimitri to adjust, but by the Goddess he _would_ adjust.

Swallowing his hesitation, he touched Claude’s shoulder. “Would you like a hug?”

Claude’s smile slipped into something more true. He was just _so_ sweet, Dimitri didn’t deserve him. “In a bit. What I’d _love_ right now is some more of that absolutely divine dinner that Dedue made. It’ll get cold soon and I’m starving.”

“Yes! Of course, my apologies! Oh. Um, the fork is broken…”

Claude’s smile turned mischievous. “That’s okay! You can use your fingers.” He winked, closed his eyes, and opened his mouth.

If his face grew hot from Claude’s suggestion, it _burned_ as Claude moaned around his gloved fingers. Crossing his legs, he prayed that Claude would be fine waiting to hug another day. With Claude hugs were never _only_ hugs. Hugs turned into cuddling. Cuddling with Claude was an involved ordeal. With how hot his entire body felt, _especially_ his lower regions, cuddling was _not_ an option currently. Dimitri was trying to adjust, but Claude was just _so_ free with his affection. He told himself over and over that Claude was an innocent kitten, that he was being cute and sweet, but it was _hard_ when his body interpreted the animal-snuggling as something _deeper_ and _hotter._

But Dimitri refused to betray his sweet friend. He refused to scare Claude away with his sinful urges. Holding Claude was enough for him. Whatever Claude wanted was enough for him. The affection Claude lavished him with was too much on some days, but it was _so sweet._ Dimitri refused to lose that. So he curbed his wild thoughts as Claude’s vocal delight threatened to drag him to dangerous places. 

_Dear Goddess_ what he wouldn’t give to take off his gloves and feel Claude’s wanting mouth around his bare fingers. If he could taste one thing, he would choose to taste Claude. Were those lips truly as inviting as they appeared? Would those lips feel plush under his tongue? What sort of noises could he pull from Claude with his mouth?

The blue flowers tangled in his hair were only the beginning. Claude liked Dimitri’s cape plenty. He could ‘lend’ it to Claude, wrap him up in Blaiddyd Blue. Gift him an earring with brilliant sapphires. Trap him in binds of blue silk. Replace every scrap of his yellow clothes with blue. If Claude tried to resist, Dimitri would effortlessly hold him down and silence him with the most delicious food. He would capture that mouth with his own and convince Claude without words. Dimitri would spoil and love Claude until he wanted nothing more than to be _Dimitri’s._ He would—

He chomped down on his cheek hard enough to draw blood. _There._ He couldn’t kiss Claude now because his mouth was bloody. Claude didn’t want to taste Dimitri’s blood. Claude liked _tasty_ things, not blood and saliva. Dimitri would provide Claude only tasty things. Dimitri would return Claude’s innocent affection. Dimitri would make Claude happy. Dimitri would control himself.

Some days were easy with Claude. Most days were easy! Some days the flexible archer could wrap himself around Dimitri as much as he liked and it was easy to remain calm. Claude was easy to love and adore. But when he kept _moaning—_

“Aaah, that was a good meal. Be sure to tell Dedue that I’ll always have a spot for him in Leicester if he ever wants to live in a warmer climate!”

“I’m so glad you enjoyed it.” _Blast,_ the food was all gone. He needed to think of more excuses in the future to bring Claude food. Or perhaps he shouldn’t. _Far too dangerous._

Claude hummed, looking at him with those sly eyes. Could he hear Dimitri’s thoughts? Could he see the dark desires in his eyes? Claude reached out a hand for Dimitri’s face. _Did Claude know?_

The hand passed his cheek and continued. Deft hands explored the golden clips in his hair. “Gold’s a good color on you. Matches your hair. Did Hilda give these to you? Or is she just lending them out?”

“I didn’t think to ask.”

Claude scooted a bit, making room for Dimitri on the bed. “Hope you don’t mind sharing me and the bed with everyone else.” Claude gestured to his animals still clinging to him.

“A-actually, I… need to bathe! I am quite sweaty from training still, you see.” He needed the coldest bath possible.

“Bah, who needs hygiene. But alright, go on. You better not take too long! I’m tired.”

“You say that as though you won’t stay up for hours reading regardless of my presence.” Dimitri still remembered the old state of Claude’s bed: covered in more books than a bookshelf. He wondered if Claude’s thirst for knowledge had been just as strong even before Dimitri roped him into his personal investigation. Some nights Claude spent hours and hours reading up on the event, pulling out resources Dimitri never would have thought to check.

Who was he kidding, Claude was just as voraciously curious as he was adorable. As if Dimitri needed _more_ reasons to revolve around him. Admittedly, he exploited Claude’s natural curiosity. Just a little! Claude would have wanted to know _anyways._ Even for Dimitri it was childsplay to dangle the conspiracy of the Tragedy of Duscur in front of Claude. It was almost _too_ easy to hook Claude into his investigation.

He wasn’t _using_ Claude. It was just meant to be. Dimitri could throw his very soul into investigating the truth of Duscur (and he more or less did) but without Claude he wouldn’t get far. Dimitri took _action._ Dimitri _did things._ But Claude _thought._ Claude was brilliant beyond regular mortals. He was creative in ways Dimitri could never dream of being. Claude was the _key_ to learning the truth. A willing key no less. One bound twice over to help Dimitri: once by the binds of his relentless search for the truth and once by the binds of his connection to Dimitri.

Claude’s sad pout would have killed him were he a lesser man. “Those are hours that I very much prefer to read while curled up with you.” _Claude was going to kill him, and he was going to die happy._ Perhaps it was because he was already so wound up that the common and _innocent_ picture that Claude painted was so much more heady than usual. _Together_ they would bring justice for Duscur. Happy and safe, curled in Dimitri’s embrace, Claude was working towards Dimitri’s end goal.

“I will try to be quick.” 

But Claude grabbed his arm as he was moving to stand. “Actually… before you go…” Claude trailed off, his eyes slipping away. He twirled with one of the flowers in his hair. “I… need to ask a favor.”

“Anything.”

“Hah, don’t go promising me your kingdom now. I…” Again he trailed off. Dimitri wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but Claude’s cheeks appeared to be darkening? “Ugh, sorry. I don’t typically… I don’t have anyone else I can ask, really… I _guess_ I could ask Hilda, but I don’t…”

He cupped Claude’s cheek in his palm. Was his cheek warm? Or was he just imagining it? “I’ll help you however you desire.” Claude was _certainly_ blushing. Just another thing Dimitri was helplessly enchanted by. His skin blushed in such a unique manner. Such a pretty deep red. Claude delighted in flustering Dimitri, but in truth Dimitri secretly delighted in flustering Claude too. He wasn’t half as good at it, but when Claude blushed he _really_ blushed. He wondered what set Claude off this time. He casually did all sorts of brazen things that left Dimitri reeling yet the strangest of things could leave him flushed and scrambling.

“The flowers are stuck. Will you pree— er, _comb_ my hair?” Claude’s voice was uncharacteristically timid and quiet.

He thumbed one of the blue forget-me-nots. “They’re very pretty.”

“They also stab my head whenever I lay down.”

He winced. “Of course I’ll help remove them. Though, as much as it chafes me to say this I may not be the best person to ask.” He withdrew his hand, fiddling with his gloves. “Delicate work is… difficult.”

Claude chewed his lip. “We can go slow. I don’t mind. Or I guess I can just do it myself.” His shoulders fell and that sad expression from earlier returned full force. _Homesick,_ he said. 

“Of course I’ll help you!” he rushed to say, desperate to pull Claude away from his miserable expression.

“Thanks.” Claude was still sad. “Go take that bath of yours. But don’t take too long.”

“I can comb your hair right now.” _Anything_ to pull Claude out of his funk.

Claude rubbed the back of his neck. “Promise you’ll keep my secret…? I typically pass out when my hair is groomed. So you better get ready for bed first.” He flashed a weak wink.

Again he returned his hand to Claude’s hair, brushing through it. Claude puffed out a long breath, his eyelids lowering. It was a familiar pattern. “I suppose that is why you bar me from stroking your hair unless we’re going to sleep.”

“Yeah… stop that already…” Despite his words, his head pressed into Dimitri’s palm. Sleepy and trusting green eyes stole Dimitri’s breath away. The flagging warmth in his stomach returned with a vengeance as Claude turned into putty in his hands. Despite Claude acting like this was new information to Dimitri, it wasn’t. It was another unbearably endearing trait of Claude’s. Claude _loved_ his hair being pet and it calmed him to the point of lulling him to sleep.

With a parting pat, Dimitri withdrew. “I’ll be back soon. I’ll bring a comb.” Specifically his own metal comb, which was decent at withstanding his strength.

“Thanks.” Claude spared him a tiny smile. He still looked sad, but something about his little smile felt _genuine._ “For this, and… sticking around, I guess.”

* * *

  
  


“Your Highness. How did it go?”

“Claude loves your food Dedue. It went great, thank you. Now if you will excuse me, I urgently need to throw myself into the pond.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri, peeking from the corner to watch Noodle deliver flowers: :3  
> Hilda: I sense gay
> 
> Claude: I am a normal functioning young adult  
> Claude: But don't look too closely. I am NOT three pigeons, a deer, and a wyvern in a trench coat.  
> Claude: (four pigeons, actually) *ahem* I was raised by two normal human adults in a normal human society (tho the parents were often busy and the society ignored me). The fact that I spent my childhood hiding in wyvern nests and deer herds and snake dens clearly has not affected me. Nor my constant bird companion. Nor my constant snake companion. I am excellent at making human friends, as it only took me 17 years to get one. Watching other people interact in non-hostile manners almost exclusively from a distance has not stunted my understanding of societal norms at all  
> Hilda: Claude wtf class introductions are supposed to be our name and favorite animal, not our life story  
> Byleth: Greetings I am functioning normal adult. But don't look too closely because I am not a emotionless vessel haunted by the spirit of a thousand+ year old 12 year old girl.
> 
> Dimitri: I am guilty... AND horny. Gorny, you could say  
> Sylvain: Woo! Self-loathing high-five!
> 
> Hilda: Here are my Claude-sparknotes, Dimitri. Don't tell him I have this. Claude will die of stress if he realizes I understand his thought processes this well. Also leave a good review online for me plox ty  
> Also Hilda: I dunno, sometimes he just goes off for no reason? Haha he gets upset over weird things, like bird calls and silly almyran stories
> 
> Claude: i am a SLUT for food. gods i LOVE a good feast. FUCK i love spicy seasoned food  
> Dimitri: I can tell
> 
> Claude, internally: heh dimi's gonna get cute and flustered  
> Claude, externally: "Hand-feed me pls ;)"  
> Dimitri, externally: "No problem :) :) I can :) :) Do that :) :)"  
> Dimitri, internally: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
> 
> Dimitri: Panic!!! at the Gay!!!  
> Claude: Hey friend :)  
> Dimitri: *breaks something*  
> Claude: Oh!! Panic! At the Gay!!
> 
> Dimitri: Claude I enjoy snuggling with you. But if you keep making those sounds I am going to have to Leave and Scream for a bit  
> Claude: sure whatever. Grip This Thing With Force for me, i want to watch you break more stuff. Also I'm keeping a record of broken silverware now, let's beat this high score chop chop muscle man
> 
> Anyways, my MO for writing Dimitri continues to be "is this too much?" followed by "nvm, go ham, gay panic this all the way". Claude continues to be 'mostly-uninformed Demi struggling to play catch up'
> 
> I hope the bits about bird-language made sense. I really had to hold myself back from going into unnecessary details about it (uuuugh I cant wait to introduce best-bird-mom Ama but I keep writing more stuff between her introduction!). I find language really interesting, so of course this fake bird 'language' really gripped my single braincell. Tho birds *do* actually have a lot of calls that mean things. 'I am flying nearby' is a common one that birds use to stick together. 'Danger!?' is a common one especially for smaller birds (look up 'pishing' videos if someone summoning birds by faking them out with a bird-call yelling 'juicy drama!! come look!! this might be dangerous, come and see!!' sounds interesting). But ngl I put way more thought into this fic's 'bird communication' than necessary. I'll spare everyone the desert-dry details that I sup juicy cactus fluids from (unless anyone happens to be interested. I'm like a loose grenade, rattle me and I'll explode with details. forbidden bird dialect details).


	16. Rain, Tears, and Animal Saliva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some trauma flashbacks and lots of damp fluff

“Um, Claude, are you busy…?”

“Not at all.” He gestured to the messy game board in front of him. “Unless you count failing to teach Noodle how to play checkers as ‘busy’. Which I don’t, for clarification.” Noodle was carefully pushing one of her pieces forward with her snout. So far, he’d managed to teach her to only push her white pieces and not to touch his black pieces, and to keep the pieces inside of the squares of the board. She was very meticulous about making sure the piece she was moving stayed within the lines.

Objectively speaking, it was a waste of his time. Noodle didn’t care much about objectivity (most wyverns didn’t in his experience). Reading was getting him nowhere with a certain _someone_ begging for attention and chewing on his book. Admittedly he needed a break anyways, as thumping his skull between the two brick wall subjects of Duscur and the etymological origin of spoons and other silverware was driving him insane. He didn’t need to know that the word ‘spoon’ was derived from Old Adrestian meaning _‘chip of wood’_ and he was sick of reading about the ‘heroic’ glorification of the Duscur genocide.

Thus: checkers with Noodle. It wasn’t a _complete_ waste, as it gave him a chance to figure out how much of Ama’s dialect he let slip out around her. Wyvern young, much like human young, were excellent language sponges. Given how well she responded to his tones of praise and admonishment, it seemed he let them slip a lot more than he realized. Dimitri must think him insane for clucking and cooing to Noodle all this time.

He was at a crossroads. Now that he was aware of it he could either continue or stop. He doubted he could actually _teach_ Noodle, but if he started talking with her like he used to talk with Ama she’d probably pick it up. But that would mean ‘talking’ to her more. _In Ama’s tongue._ If he wanted to do it right, that meant talking to her often. A majority of the time Noodle wasn’t _just_ with him. Either he was in class or he was with Dimitri. Which meant clucking and crowing and cooing like a madman around _Dimitri._

But if Noodle _did_ pick up the dialect, she would be able to better communicate. Claude was a master at reading wyvern body language, but that only answered so much. There was also the aspect that he would have someone to chatter with. And… admittedly, the idea of Ama meeting Noodle and being able to communicate with the wyvern was enticing.

He kept going back and forth on it. So for now, he was just doing a little bit. Little quiet noises, short rhythms. Simple things. Noises that weren’t _too_ strange for someone to make, like clucks, grunts, coos, and hums. It limited his vocabulary. But wordless shouts and piercing whistles were off the table unless he was alone. It meant that Noodle wasn’t learning many of his words for types of danger, but for now that was fine.

He only just started actively teaching her for a short while now and she was already picking up so much.

Marianne watched Noodle for a few moments, smiling. Predictably her smile didn’t stay for long, her eyes falling back to the ground. “I see. She seems to be having a lot of fun…” She fidgeted, biting her lip.

“So, to what honor do I owe a visit from you?” It was very, very rare for Marianne to approach him unless Hilda was dragging her along. Or there was a cat or something nearby to fawn over. Glancing under the table, there _were_ a few cats lounging at his feet, but he didn’t think that was why she was here. 

“Um… I’m sorry. You can say no if you want, I won’t mind. I’m not good company, and I know I’m a bother….”

“Whoa now, I don’t even know what I’m saying yes or no to yet. Why don’t you start there.”

“Oh. Sorry. Um… I, um, I wanted to ask if you’d… maybe, or maybe not… be willing to h-help me.”

He leaned forward. “With…?”

“I want to do something for Hilda,” she whispered, barely audible.

Claude repressed the smirk he wanted to show. “Oh? Do tell.”

She hunched in on herself, squeezing her shoulders together. “H-Hilda is always helping me, e-even though I mess everything up. I’m nothing but a burden to her, but she’s still so nice to me. I want to get something nice for her as an apology. But I’m sure she will hate whatever I choose…”

“That’s incredibly sweet of you, but I _have_ to correct you: you can get Hilda anything and so long as it’s from you she’ll love it.”

Marianne shook her head. “N-no, that’s not true. She has so many nice things, and she makes even nicer things. Anything I pick out for her will just go to waste. O-or maybe I will offend her, and she’ll hate me… But you know her well. Y-you know what she likes. R-right?” She wrung her hands together.

“Hilda would never hate you.” He held back on correcting her further. “But I’m happy to help you out! That’s what friends are for, right?” Hell if he knew, but it seemed like that would be true.

“We’re… friends?”

“Of course! I certainly think of you as one.”

“Oh. Okay. Um… you may change your mind… I wouldn’t blame you…”

“Nonsense.” After a beat of hesitation, he called Noodle over with a quick “ _[Come here, Silly-Child][-Fondness]”._ Marianne wouldn’t go around gossiping about his little habit if she noticed. Noodle eagerly obliged, scrambling across the gameboard and spilling checkers all over the ground. He added an extra beat of praise and a stroke down her head. Gesturing to the now unoccupied seat across from him, he winked at Marianne. “Take a seat. What did you have in mind for Hilda?” 

She hesitated for long enough to have Claude doubting himself. His patience was rewarded as she slowly hunched into the seat, eyes staring down at the table. “I don’t know.”

“Not even an idea?”

She shook her head. “I don’t even know what she likes…”

“Flowers, cute things, jewelry, perfume, sweets, anything that lets her shirk work…” He ticked off his fingers as he listed them off. _‘You,’_ he didn’t add. “She’s got a wide variety of things she likes.”

“I… I don’t know…”

He held back a sigh. Marianne was never confident, but apparently Hilda _really_ brought out the best in her. “Let’s look at this from another angle. What kind of things do _you_ like?”

“M-me? Um, why does that matter?”

“I know Hilda like the back of my hand. You could just get her a gift, _sure._ She’ll love it. But you know what I think will make her _really_ happy? Doing something fun with you. So, what do you guys usually do? Other than nap together near some deer — I already know about that.” If he wasn’t still somewhat uncertain about cuddle-etiquette in Fódlan, that would have been his suggestion. Then again, Hilda would probably prefer something actually romantic rather than plain old platonic cuddling. He struggled to remember the ‘romance’ advice she’d given him. Something about… candles? Rose petals? Bathing together?

She bit her lip. “Um. Sometimes we go bird watching. Or have tea together… But she’s probably bored when we do that.”

“Why not take her on a picnic? Bring some sweets, take her out to the forest, and enjoy some quality bird watching together.” Should he suggest rose petals? No, better to play it safe.

 _Finally_ he drew a small smile from her. “That does sound nice… But, what if she doesn’t want to do that? I don’t know what sweets she likes… What if I get something she hates?”

“Your pal Claude just so happens to know Hilda’s favorite snacks. I can supply you with the best Hilda-gifts, and you can sweep in and take the credit.”

It took him an exhausting amount of time to convince her that it wasn’t a bother to him.

“If you refuse to accept this as a gesture of friendship, then how about as an apology? I know I’ve been insensitive with my prying in the past.” If his own guilt wasn’t enough in that field, Hilda had nearly throttled him after the first time he made Marianne uncomfortable. “For the record, this is _not_ me prying further. I’ve learned my lesson! We all have our secrets, and that’s okay.” Even though he was _dying_ to know more. He had his suspicions about her, and he _was_ still looking into her situation… just, not directly anymore. He would satisfy his need to know without distressing the poor girl.

Eventually Noodle got bored with all his sitting around and began tugging on his braid. She squawked at him that she was bored, which was impressive given he only just taught her that tone earlier in the day. 

“You could use a little patience in your life,” he murmured, slipping in a subtle _[Child][-Praise]_ at the end for her successful communication. 

_“[-Bored][!]”_ she screeched at him, followed by random wyvern nonsense (and an enthusiastic tail-slap). If he was serious about teaching her, he _should_ correct her grammar (what little there was). She was garbling the right tones and pitches for _[-Bored],_ but there was no recognizable ‘word’ attached to it. The best equivalent he could think of was someone making a long grumble conveying annoyance without saying any words. It got the point across, but he couldn’t be sure if she was trying to say something else. He had no idea how to go about correcting her. He’d never really thought about it before… Also, Marianne was _right_ there.

“U-um, she seems… bored… m-maybe. We could, um, w-walk and talk? I-if she wants to do that…”

“I think that’s a perfect idea.”

He hissed the quietest _“[Move][-Fondness]”_ to her that he could manage, gesturing to the ground. Maybe he should invest some time to learn how to lie in Ama’s tongue. His _[-Fondness]_ tones undercut that he was serious. It was hard _not_ to feel fond towards the little wyvern though. He’d never needed to lie before, and Ama always knew his truth anyways, so he wasn’t actually sure how to do it. It was simple in _theory,_ but he didn’t really think when he spoke. He just spoke. Which was another difficulty in trying to teach Noodle. 

Actually _listening_ to him for once, Noodle hopped off of his shoulder. _That_ was a new and highly useful development. If only she was always so obedient. She raced circles around his feet, cheeping _“[Move][-Fondness]”_ on loop. 

He bit the inside of his cheek, eyeing Marianne. She was smiling again, so that was a win. He knelt down to Noodle, patting her head and murmuring the quietest, shortest _“[Stop, Silly-Child][-Fondness]”_ that he could. The tones for _[-Fondness]_ and _[-Silly]_ unfortunately had to be spoken at a slow and calm pace. Harsh and sharp calls were typically used for urgent, aggressive, or upset concepts. Soft and sentimental concepts were slower and relaxed. But better than upbeat and happy calls, as those couldn’t be whispered.

She came to a stop, just as he asked. Mostly. Her hips wiggled back and forth with excitement, her tail still slamming around. _“[Play][-!][-Urgent]”_ she shrieked. On one hand, she probably didn’t _mean_ to add the emphasis that her volume conveyed. On the other hand, she looked like she _very_ urgently wanted to play. 

“Good girl. Don’t go too far. Go on, run around.” He gestured for her to go.

She chirped a _“[Play][-Happy][!]”_ and took off. She understood a little bit of spoken word, but not much. Human language had so much vocabulary. Ama’s tongue had very limited vocabulary but significantly more subtle nuance between sounds. Instead of ‘words’, Ama’s tongue was reliant on rhythm, length, tone, volume, frequency, and spacing of sounds and noises. Ama could only make a dozen or so distinct sounds. Apparently it was easy as hell for a baby wyvern to pick up, because Noodle was soaking up everything he gave her like a sponge (with only a handful of misunderstandings so far).

He stood back up, turning to Marianne but keeping one eye on Noodle. “Alright, where were we?” The two of them continued to cycle through some ideas, keeping pace as Noodle ran around to her heart’s content.

Noodle’s heart was content to take her outside the monastery and into the nearby forest. Not that Claude was complaining. It was a nice day for a forest walk. “Maybe we’ll find the perfect picnic spot for you.”

Marianne nodded, her eyes fixed on the rough forest trail. “M-maybe.” 

The conversation died, but he didn’t mind. He enjoyed watching Noodle tromp through the woods, nosing her way into whatever caught her curiosity. He only had to call her back to him twice — once as she tried to investigate a wasp nest and once when she nearly pitched herself into a creek.

He was lucky that she recognized the rhythm through his whistle. His gut response was to call out a quick _[Danger]_ but he hadn’t taught her that rhythm. _“[Come here][-Urgent]”_ had to suffice. As embarrassing as it would be, he needed to fully teach Noodle. It was just _too_ useful of a tool for the both of them. She actually somewhat listened to him through Ama’s tongue. He was already dreading the embarrassing conversation with Dimitri about it.

He got too caught up watching Noodle. She was very captivating, bumbling around chasing a butterfly. It wasn’t until he felt a raindrop that he noticed the sky was dark. Looking up and accidentally dislodging the bird perched on his head, he saw thick storm clouds.

He met the wide eyes of Marianne, who shared his realization. He clucked his tongue to call Noodle back to him. No sooner did he pick her up that the sky opened up and the heavens began to pour. 

He cursed, immediately soaked. They were a solid half-hour walk from the monastery. He tucked Noodle under his shirt and against his stomach.

Marianne said something.

“What?” He shouted over the rain.

She pointed, speaking again but losing her voice in the rain. All he caught was _‘dry’_ and _‘cover.’_

“Yeah, let’s go!”

Already shivering, he followed Marianne as she backtracked. Whatever cover she had, he hoped it was close. The forest was too thin to protect them from the worst of the downpour.

His stomach dropped as Marianne brought them to a cave opening. He debated urging her to continue with him back to the monastery. They might get sick in this weather, but it was nothing life-threatening. Timid Marianne wouldn’t argue with him.

But Noodle was shivering against his stomach. 

He hesitated at the mouth of the cave. “C-Claude?” Marianne clutched her arms, shivering violently.

He threw together a reassuring smile, ready to give her an excuse. He was distracted by a flash of light. Moments later the _boom_ washed over him. Noodle screeched, digging her claws into his stomach.

He followed Marianne into the cave, focusing on Noodle as he murmured soothing humms to her. _“[I am here][-Comfort].”_ He could only absently follow Marianne’s footsteps, winding away from the entrance and plunging them into full darkness. He focused on Noodle, not the cave. She was an excellent distraction right up until he tripped.

He grunted against the rocky ground, his knees and palm stinging. He looked up and he— 

_Panicked._

_Endless darkness. Where was the exit? Which direction to crawl? He didn’t know where the exit was. The darkness writhed and twisted, mocking faces reminding him that he was alone. Reminding him he was_ always _alone and always would be. He was lost. His mind and the cave both toyed with him, dangling false noises that echoed and echoed and echoed. No matter how many times he dreamed of escape, he always woke back up in darkness._

_He was going to die in this cave. There was no escape._

Light flared to life, blinding him.

“S-sorry! A-a-are you o-okay? Claude?”

“Ju-ust fine.” He tried to laugh. “Tri-tri-triped. A-ah, hah, I’m g-good.” He wasn’t sure if he was shaking or shivering. He was definitely doing a lot of one of those.

Marianne settled down next to him, gently prompting him into a sitting position. She ran her hands over his palm, the cool wash of faith magic driving away the pain. “I’m sorry. I, I’m s-so sorry…”

“It’s o-kay, it’s okay,” he repeated, his voice shaking and teeth chattering. “It’s not li-ike you tripped me, aha… tha-anks for the h-heal. Brrrr, I’m s-soaked.”

Marianne withdrew, and the light in her hands winked out. His heart leapt in his chest as the cave plunged back into darkness. He tried to focus on Noodle, who still shivered against his stomach. He focused on the distant pattering of rain. He focused on anything that wasn’t claustrophobic darkness.

He squinted at where Marianne had been. She was silent. “Are you st-still there?”

Panic gripped him as silence stuffed his head with cotton.

“M-Marianne? H-hey, Marianne!”

“Here…” she whispered, barely a ghost of a sound.

“Of course, heh, of course…” He didn’t imagine her whisper, right?

She sniffled, and then broke out into sobs. The sound bounced off the cave walls, amplifying it and surrounding him from all directions. It was an awful, haunting sound.

“Don’t cry, hey, it’s o-okay. We’ll b-be fine. The storm’ll pass s-s-soon en-n-nough, and then we’ll be n-nice and wa-arm.” He fumbled forward, blindly feeling for Marianne. With the way her sobs echoed, he couldn’t pinpoint where she was. “Where a-are you? M-Marianne?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this is all my fault!”

He continued to crawl. “No one’s fault b-but the rain. Where’d you go?”

She didn’t answer him. She only sobbed.

 _“C’mon_ Mari, I don’t blame you, where _are you?!_ W-where—” His head slammed into a rock. He shouted, dropping and curling up on the cold cave floor as he clutched his forehead.

Marianne was at his side again, pale light of her hands illuminating the cave. She was still sobbing as she pressed cool waves of healing magic against his head.

He snatched one of her wrists. “You’re real, right?”

Her tears hitched, the light once again fading.

“N-never m-mind, stupid question. I-if you weren’t r-real, not like you’d t-tell me. Aren’t you c-c-cold? I’m going to lose my f-fingers at this rate. G-get closer, we c-can keep each o-other warm.”

Finally Marianne settled against his side. _Not alone,_ he repeated to himself. _This is real. This isn’t a hallucination._

He peeled himself out of his jacket, not that it did much good. He was completely soaked through. Noodle still huddled under his shirt. Marianne took her own outer-jacket off. Slowly he coaxed Marianne a bit closer so that they could shiver against each other. He wrapped her in a hug. She tensed, but slowly pressed closer to him. She continued to cry, but it wasn’t like his shirt wasn’t already wet anyways.

He was interrupted from his fun game of _‘surely the past eight years weren’t just a cave-induced hallucination’_ by Marianne gasping. Before he could ask her anything, he felt a wet nose press against his cheek.

He flailed a hand out, coming into contact with a stretch of fur. “Oh sweet God of Fortune! She’s d-dry and warm, Marianne!”

“H-hello, miss bear…” 

The bear rumbled, laying down against them. There was a smaller bundle of fur that plopped down against their legs — the bear’s cub. 

The bear’s arrival sparked a trend. A deer clopped into the cave, shaking its fur before settling down by them. It was damp but warm enough to make up for that. Claude’s grasp on time was shaky as more creatures joined them. Deer, wolves, cougars, and even a boar joined them. He couldn’t help but laugh as the various animals started licking him and Marianne to try and ‘dry’ them off. Even better, Marianne’s cries tapered off into sniffles and the occasional laugh. Eventually Noodle poked her head out from under his shirt and was given the same treatment. She cooed pathetically, but she finally stopped shivering as she curled up under his chin.

“This i-isn’t so bad, huh?” He still shook some, but the numbness was gone. Being covered in animals was, as it always was, very cathartic.

“No, I guess not…”

Between the piles of fur and tongues, he felt something colder slither up under his shirt and around his hips. Reaching down, he felt the head of the biggest snake he’d seen in Fódlan so far. “Aw hell, poor thing. You must be just as cold as us, huh. Did your den fill with water?” The snake, being a snake, didn’t reply to him. It just continued to curl around his body, large enough to wrap around him twice. The snake was cool against his skin, but damn him it was a comforting presence. The snake was no Vish, but it brought a similar level of ease. The tension in his shoulders finally eased. “Just what I needed…”

“Um… Claude?”

He lightly squeezed her arm. “Right here.”

“Can I, um, ask you a question? You can say no…”

“No ha-arm in asking.”

“Why are there so many animals?”

“Must not be much shelter around. G-good thing you spotted this c-c-cave.”

“Um… okay. Claude, are… um, are you afraid of caves? I’m sorry, I shouldn’t ask…”

He sighed, pretending like his shakes were from the cold. “Not afraid, just… not a fan.” He was fine if the cave was _lit._ It was just dark, underground, inescapable places that got to him. He had no problem crawling around the claustrophobic passages under Garreg Mach so long as he had light. He had no problem with the dark of an open moonless night. He could work past the worst of it so long as he had a visible exit in front of him. “Heh. I p-promise I won’t tell anyone that you cried if you don’t tell anyone I sm-smashed my head into a wall. This whole l-little adventure can be our s-secret.”

“I won’t tell anyone. I’m sorry that I brought us to a cave, and that I didn’t notice the rain clouds, and that I suggested this, and—”

“I don’t blame you for any of that. You sh-shouldn’t blame yourself either.”

Her sniffles began again. “You’re just like Hilda. I don’t deserve any of this. You should hate me.”

“No one deserves to be hated or alone,” he murmured back. “If you don’t trust my word, you should trust the animals. They clearly don’t hate you. I say that counts for a lot.” She didn’t reply. The rumbles of breathing somewhat filled the silence, but they weren’t distinct enough. He cleared his throat. He needed something to ground himself, to remind him he _wasn’t_ in that damned cave. “You like talking to animals, right? Feel free, you can pretend like I’m not here.”

“Do you ever talk to them?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” He huffed a small laugh. “Not that they understand me.” Noodle and Ama not included. “You seem good about that though. What’s your secret?” It was said as a joke, but she tensed harshly at the word _‘secret’._ He bit his tongue to keep from prying like he desperately wanted to. “My secret is that I bribe them. No animal can resist a good scratch behind the ear or a little treat.” The _real_ secret was that he folded like wet paper to begging. Animals could sniff out a sucker like him effortlessly.

“Um, but… you didn’t, um, bribe any of these animals…? You’ve never met them?”

“Ah, but they’re cold too, just like us. It’s a win-win for them. They get to sleep in a pile of warmth, and we get to sit in a pile of warmth. And a lucky few get the best reward of all.” He reached out to pet the boar, prompting it to butt against his hand and grunt for more pets.

Marianne fidgeted. The storm still raged outside and didn’t sound like it would stop any time soon. 

“So… favorite animal?”

He filled the time by talking. He did most of the talking but managed to drag some conversation out of Marianne when he needed another human voice. He learned that she liked all animals, her favorites being horses and birds. She didn’t like bugs, didn’t like cleaning, and he even learned her favorite teas (Hilda would appreciate that). He restrained himself from asking probing questions during their period of forced proximity. She clammed up when he brought up topics of home life, crests, or the future in general. She opened up when he brought up topics involving animals, books, or Hilda. He only bumped into a few moments of crushingly awkward silence, such as when he accidentally asked her about her (dead) parents.

Marianne, being Marianne, peppered in plenty of _“Spending time with me must be boring,”_ and _“Sorry I’m bad at talking,”_ sort of Marianne-isms. He did his best to reassure her, but the one thing she was stubborn about was her lack of self-worth. Good thing he and Hilda were stubborn people too. Every time Marianne began to apologize to him or put herself down, he pressed Noodle against her face and prompted the little wyvern to lick her cheek.

It was a good system.

“…and then, Dorte leaned over and ate the apple! Leonie didn’t even notice until she went to take a bite.”

“No way!” Claude cracked up. His voice was hoarse at this point, and he was achingly thirsty, but it was worth it. He couldn’t see her face in the dark, but her voice sounded much happier.

“I made sure Dorte knew that stealing is wrong after that. Um, but, it was pretty funny…”

He shook his head, still snickering. “Downright hilarious. Wish I’d been there to see Leonie’s face.” He paused. “Hey, you hear that? Sounds like the storm’s over.” He’d been so wrapped in chatting he hadn’t noticed the sound going quiet. 

“Oh. Yes. W-we should get back… you have better things to do than to spend time with me.”

He pushed Noodle towards her. By now, Noodle was well aware of what that meant, eagerly lapping at Marianne’s cheek. “Wanna try that again?” he asked with a grin.

Marianne giggled as Noodle performed her job with gusto. “Claude!” It was sad that bouts of carefree laughter were rare from her. She had a nice laugh.

“One of these days Hilda and I will get it through to you that we genuinely enjoy being around you. Don’t get me wrong, I understand it’s hard to take someone’s words at face value — mine especially.” 

“I know you’re telling the truth,” Marianne whispered with a strange amount of certainty. She reached out to pet Noodle, who halted her assault in order to nuzzle against Marianne’s hand. “I just think you are both wrong.”

He bit back a sigh. The problem with having friends, he was learning, was that it meant he was much more invested in their happiness and wellbeing. He understood her sentiment. It hurt his heart that Marianne was just _so_ convinced that she was unlovable. But really, he could understand—

“Gah, Noodle.” She decided she needed to lick _his_ face now. A handful of other animals chose that moment to nuzzle against him.

“Sorry,” Marianne whispered. “I only seem to make people sad.”

“Who said I was sad? We were laughing a moment ago.” He pried Noodle off his face and deposited her on Marianne. “You owe Noodle another sorry-tax.”

 _Okay,_ so he _did_ admit it was eerie how well Marianne could track his mood. It was too dark for her to even see him. No matter how lax he kept his body language or how light he kept his tone, somehow she seemed to _know_ every time his thoughts shifted even _slightly_ negative.

Could she read _minds?_ No, ridiculous. Maybe she could sense negative feelings? He had no idea how that would be possible, but it made a lot of sense. Perhaps that was why she was always gloomy — Claude would be gloomy too if he was constantly bombarded with everyone’s negativity. It would explain why she sought out the company of animals.

He shuffled that idea into his mental ‘tentatively possible’ pile of theories. 

“I actually enjoyed this, you know.” He gently knocked his head against hers, lightly nuzzling against her hair. She’d relaxed a lot while they were talking, easing enough to cuddle against him. “Sure, I could have gone without the freezing rain,” _or the dark cave,_ “but there’s no better way to relax than with a friend curled up in a pile of animals.” Though typically he prefered the ‘friend’ part of the equation to be absent. He snapped his fingers. “Hey, now there’s an idea! I bet Hilda would love an outing like this. Minus the rain obviously. She likes cute animals.”

“Um… I don’t think that will work.”

 _Right,_ how could he forget. Friends didn’t cuddle with friends in Fódlan. “I’m sure Hilda would be more than happy to make an exception for you. She gushed about napping with you that one time, remember? And hey, if you’re worried about holding up a conversation — not that I personally think you have anything to worry about — you can just nap with her. A relaxing cuddle-nap in a pile of warm and fuzzy animals, just like we are right now. It's one of life’s greatest joys, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Um…”

He patted her back. “I can vouch that you’re great to cuddle with, and Hilda does too, so don’t even try to deny it. I know warmth and survival are kinda our motivation here, not leisure, but still…” Marianne fidgeted, shrinking away from him. “I made it awkward, didn’t I.” _Damn Fódlan._

“N-no, I’m s-sorry…”

He shoved against the deer nuzzling his face. All of the sudden he felt horribly exposed to Marianne. His insides twisted as he replayed his words to himself. _Cuddle-napping_ wasn’t _done_ in Fódlan. And here he was, arms thrown around her. He'd pulled her into his lap, curled around her, and snuggled back to recline against the bear. As he’d grown more comfortable with his surroundings he’d gotten careless. He defaulted back to his old habits when he was upset or anxious. The kind of things he did when he was _alone_ with animals. Nuzzling against her, petting down her back, snuggling close, and overall being touchy. Which probably wasn’t normal Fódlan behavior. Dimitri never minded when he got affectionate, but Dimitri didn’t know any better.

He was _Claude von Riegan,_ mysterious unknown with cunning eyes and an untrustworthy grin. Yes, the Deer were coming to see his weaker side, but that didn’t give him leave to start snuggling just because he wanted to! He wasn’t _Khalid_ here. He couldn’t afford to be seen as a weakling that spent his time fussing over whatever critter caught his eye. He couldn’t afford to be soft — not here and not back home. He wasn’t safely curled up in a wyvern nest or a bear den or a snake pit. He was beside Marianne. _Marianne,_ who shied away from basic touch on a good day. Here he was telling Marianne she was nice to cuddle with. Here he was _cuddling_ with her. Marianne, who was tense now, who was uncomfortable because of him, who was one of his few friends. Marianne, who he’d just shown a side of himself he’d kept carefully hidden from all except Dimitri.

And the _damned_ animals wouldn’t leave him alone! They’d been content a few moments ago, but now they were _all_ clambering for his attention, licking and crowding him.

“This must be — stop that — must be uncomfortable for you. We can — gross, stop, not my hair, ugh — we can head back now. Sorry I didn’t give you much — Noodle! Not you too! — sorry I didn’t give you a choice. I wasn’t thinking, I was just cold. Gods, will you all _stop!”_

None of the animals listened to him. 

“It’s okay… um… H-how often do you, um, ‘cuddle-nap’ with animals…?”

“Just every few days. You know how affectionate animals can be.” A wolf managed to sneak past his hands, planting a wet lick into his ear.

“Yes. I suppose I do. You enjoy being affectionate too, don’t you.”

His fight stalled as Marianne’s words hit him like a pot to the head. “I’m not — that’s, that’s just an assumption on your part.” _Dammit,_ she completely saw through him. Of course she noticed, he wasn’t being _subtle. At all._ At least his face wasn’t cold anymore. From his blush, and being overwhelmed by furry faces. “Gah!”

Marianne giggled. “I’m so sorry! You’re just, um, you’re really funny sometimes Claude!”

Her laughter was good, but she was laughing _at_ him. Hidden in the darkness of the cave, he didn’t need to hide the hurt that flashed across his face. 

Then she hugged him back.

“Thank you, um, for trusting me enough to relax. I know it’s not easy for you… I don’t understand why you don’t dislike me, but… thank you.” Her hug tightened, her voice lowering to a whisper. “You’re a good friend. I haven’t been hugged in… in a really long time. Th-thank you,” she sniffled, “thank you for, um, c-c-cuddle-napping with me. I-it’s… it’s r-really, really n-n-nice…” Her fingers fisted into the back of his shirt as she began to weep again against him.

“Oh.” Like a magic spell, the animals relaxed and stopped demanding from him. He swallowed. “Sure. Any time.” He went back to petting down her back. “You don’t mind?” He cursed himself for how quiet his voice came out. He _wasn’t_ begging. He _wasn’t._

“I th-thought I would but… i-if it’s you, I don’t mind…”

He pressed his cheek against her hair and returned to nuzzling before his thoughts caught up with his action. He blamed all the animals for throwing him into old habits. He’d never snuggled with a person simultaneously with woodland animals before. Should he stop nuzzling her? She _said_ she didn’t mind, so… “We’ll have to do this again, then. Next time without the rain or the hard rocky cave floor.”

Marianne wheezed a giggle-sob. “W-will the animals come too?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Have you ever tried sleeping in the woods? They’ll flock to you like you’re a premium nap spot. Invited or not.”

“S-sorry for crying s-so much…”

“Sorry tax.” Noodle again performed her job. “And hey, it’s alright. Just you, me, Noodle, and some wild animals. I won’t tell if Noodle doesn’t. This is a good spot to let it all out.”

“Y-you… you really don’t mind.” She sniffled again, and he thought she was going to burst into more sobs. “Claude, how come you’re my friend?”

“What kind of question is that?” And why _now_ when he was feeling so off balance? Did she know? What was he saying, of course she could tell. 

“I… it’s not a t-trick question…”

He bit his lip. _Right._ It was a simple question. Easy. There was the original answer: she was Margrave Edmund’s daughter and heir. Same reason he originally cozied up to Hilda. But that wasn’t the _reason_ anymore, just a nice perk. She could be a commoner for all he cared. “You’re such a kind person, I like being around you.”

She wilted, her tight hug going limp. “Oh…”

“…How did you know I was lying?”

“It’s… not important…”

He squirmed a bit as again the animals were on him. “Tell me how you knew, and I’ll tell you the truth,” he grunted past fur. _Even though he wasn’t sure himself._ “And can you, mmph, tell these needy animals to stop? They actually listen to you!”

“They’re very… empathetic,” she whispered. 

“Yeah, _I know.”_

“You don’t like to lie,” she whispered his secret. “You… you’re really curious. You’re always looking for the truth, a-aren’t you? Y-you’re n-never happy when you lie.”

 _Shit._ “You think so?” _Shit._ So she really could feel negative emotions, or something like that.

No answer. The animals crowded him just short of suffocating him. 

“Fine! You’re right! Just tell them to stop!” He loved animals, he really did, but he didn’t like this!

“I… u-um… I-I’m not sure I can…”

 _Right,_ he promised her the ‘truth’. About why he was her friend. “We’re the same!” he admitted. “Similar. We’re _similar.”_ Her struggles, the way she felt she didn’t belong, this _burden_ she felt she was born with. They dealt with it in different ways, but deep down he felt a kinship with her.

He expected something like _‘we have nothing in common’._ He didn’t expect her quiet “oh.” She went back to hugging him, so apparently he gave an acceptable answer? “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes. Okay. I, um. I understand. Sorry my question made you uncomfortable.” She tightened her hug.

His insides unclenched, and at the same time the animals eased up. “Nah, ‘s all good. But for next time, cuddle-naps aren’t supposed to involve deep questions.” This was karma for prying into her secrets, wasn’t it.

“I p-promise I won’t ask anything else…”

He wondered how well she could detect his emotions. Because she _had_ to be able to. Did it have to do with the ‘curse’ she believed she had? Marianne being a lie detector should be a reason for him to distance himself, but admittedly he didn’t want to. He knew that the judgment of animals wasn’t perfect, but it counted for something. If Marianne had any malicious intent, the animals would notice. Even by his own assessment, he doubted Marianne knew _how_ to be malicious. He could work with this. He typically avoided the truth rather than outright lying anyways. The prospect of expanding his human cuddle circle up to _two_ people was enticing. How long ago was it that he thought he could never trust another person to casually touch him?

“We really should be getting back, as much as I hate to get up.” Though he very much did want out of the cave. “Hilda will worry her head off if we’re not back by dinner.”

“Oh! You’re right, we should. I hate to cause her worry. Though… I do a lot.”

“I’m taking half a Noodle tax for that one.” He signaled Noodle to give her a little lick on the cheek. He stumbled to stand in the darkness, helping Marianne up. The snake around his waist hissed at his sudden movement, and admittedly he’d forgotten about the comforting presence. Other animals picked themselves up. “Don’t let us keep you all from your nap,” he murmured uselessly.

Not _entirely_ useless, as it got a tiny laugh out of Marianne. “Um, Claude, they want to follow you. You, um, really befriended the whole forest, didn’t you.”

His cheeks were slightly warm. “See, this is the downside to giving in to their begging. Feed _one_ set of sad eyes, and next thing you know the whole forest’ll be knocking on your doorstep.” Somehow animals _always_ sniffed out how weak he was to their begging no matter where he went.

Marianne laughed again. Hilda would lop his head off with jealousy if she found out how many times he got Marianne to laugh (and _really_ kill him if she knew how many times he made her cry). “I don’t think you dislike it like you claim.”

“Never said I _dislike_ them, they’re just annoying.” He sighed, patting Noodle with his free hand. He hadn't let go of Marianne’s hand. Just… to make sure he didn’t lose her in the dark. That was all. “They have their moments.”

“They are really nice. It’s, um, hard to say no to them…”

“You understand my pain. They’re all equipped with such big, sad eyes!”

“Y-yes, they are. A-and they never judge you, no matter what you tell them…”

“Never betray you, even if they can be awfully needy.”

“Free with affection and comfort…”

“And no messy politics! People could learn a lot from animals, don’t you think? They’re much less complicated.” He went to take a step forward and hesitated. “We came from this direction… right?” The longer he thought about it, the less certain he was that he was going the right way. They weren’t _that_ far into the cave, just a little bend past the entrance. But getting lost in darkness was easy as taking one wrong step. 

Marianne squeezed his hand. _Shit,_ could she tell that he was on edge? Light bloomed from her hand and he immediately felt relief. Between Marianne, the gaggle of animals, and how different this cave was from the one back in Almyra, it washed away his lingering dread. She shared a tiny smile with him. “It’s this way, u-um, not far…”

“Right. That’s what I thought.”

Her light didn’t last long, but it was a very short distance to the entrance. Sunlight peeked past the cloud cover. The tension melted out of him. 

“Now to figure out how to convince everyone not to follow us back into the monastery.” At least none of them were trying to trap him into taking a longer nap (yet). They all stuck near to him though, barely giving him and Marianne room to walk. He also needed to figure out how to pry off the snake still curled around him. 

Marianne, it turned out, continued to be a _blessing._

“How do you _do_ that?!” He watched the wildlife reluctantly disperse back into the forest at Marianne’s gentle coaxing.

“I-it’s n-nothing… U-um, mister snake, Claude needs to go home now. Can you unwind please? Y-yes, you did a very good job, thank you. You can visit Claude another time. Oh, um, I know he is very nice and warm. Oh dear, do you have a dry and warm place to go?”

 _Right,_ the poor snake’s den must have gotten wet. After all, there wasn’t any other reason for a snake to brave a rainstorm. If he positioned his jacket right, he could probably smuggle it into his room. He could keep it for a day or two until things dried off. He wouldn’t mind another snake (temporarily). Vish would be pissed at him though. He wondered if Dimitri would be okay sleeping with the snake. Dimitri never minded Vish curled around Claude’s ankle, but he doubted the prince even noticed her. This snake was a lot bigger. It was a very sweet snake. Very cute. Dimitri probably wouldn’t mind.

“Um… Claude? You _do_ want the snake off of you… right?”

He sighed. “Of course. But if he doesn’t have a safe and dry place to stay…”

“Oh, um, no. He does.” She petted down the snake’s face. The snake returned a slow tongue flick in her direction. The snake, maybe a half a foot total unwound, flopped to curl its head back against Claude’s stomach, erasing Marianne’s progress. “He just likes you. And, um, he thinks you don’t want him to leave…”

How did she manage to extract _that_ meaning out of the snake’s body language? Obviously the snake liked him, and the slow tongue flick communicated curiosity and that it didn’t consider Marianne a threat. The snake wasn’t acting distressed, so maybe that was it? If Claude was a snake and his den was flooded, he’d be pretty distressed.

He shivered. Holding his shirt up for Marianne to talk to the snake was leaving him freezing. Not that his damp shirt helped much either. “Okay snake, buddy, pal. Head on home. I’m sure you’re cold. I’m cold, and we're both going to be cold until you leave. So… please go home?” The snake didn’t budge. “You make this look so easy Marianne.”

It took Marianne a solid five minutes to convince the snake to get off of him. She probably could have done it in four minutes, but she kept asking him if he was _sure_ that he wanted the snake to leave, because apparently the snake thought he wanted it to stay. However she managed to determine _that._ Claude might have a pretty good understanding of snakes in general, but he couldn't read their minds. Maybe she could feel animal emotions too, or something. He needed to look into that (Preferably without Marianne finding out.)

“Phew. Thanks. You’re a miracle worker. I can barely get even Noodle to listen to me.”

Noodle, hearing her name, perked up. _“[Play][-Now][?]”_ she chirped, apparently already over her traumatic storm experience. She pawed at his face with her wing.

“No, we need to get you back and dry you off. It’ll be a miracle if you don’t get sick.” He sneezed. “Ugh, or if _I_ don’t get sick.”

 _“[Play][-Now][?]”_ she repeated, her excited tail slapping the back of his head.

“You understand what ‘no’ means.”

She whined. Then sneezed all over the back of his neck.

* * *

* * *

* * *

Thank you everyone that expressed interest in my esoteric bird-facts last chapter! I’m putting this here because my rambles are too POWERFUL (aka too long) for the end notes. If you’re not interested in random intersections between human linguistics and the various nuances of how birds of prey communicate, that’s okay. **FEEL FREE TO SKIP THIS** **.** **It won’t affect the story.** I don’t blame anyone for not caring about my bird-dissertation on bird-law for the bird-fans. Enjoy my 1.3k of bird nonsense. 

Just a lil disclaimer first: I in no way have any formal education on this subject and am merely coming to my own conclusion on this. Do not take my information as gospel. I've done my research, but I'm also boiling down a lot of concepts to their basics. And I also might be flat out wrong on stuff, who knows. But to the best of my ability much of this *should* be accurate(ish). I’m mashing together my amature knowledge of human linguistics with birds. So anyways here’s my mini school-report on birds for context:

Birds of prey are less vocal compared to small birds, but they still communicate with each other. Their vocal range is limited compared to birds like crows or parrots, and they can’t ‘sing’. They chirp/cherop, coo, whistle, rapid-chitter, bark(wonk/wip), kak, hiss, croak, cry, trill, duck-like ‘wacks’, and yelp. There are more or less kinds of noises they can make depending on who you ask and how they're classified. (Minor spoiler) Ama is based off of rl Golden Eagles (with a few minor changes, because fantasy, why not). An eagle sounds a lot like seagulls for context (where I live seagulls are far more common than eagles). Though onomatopoeia could be used in this fic, I find they look ridiculous in written word lol so I'm trying not to use them.

Here’s a summarized list of the reasons BoPs communicate: Flight caws (I am flying nearby), Mating call (come get sum fuk), Mating call post-marriage (come feed the kids/me), soft coo (hello bby), soft ‘chi-chi-chi’ (hello mate, let’s (lovingly) fuk soon), KAK! KAK KAK KAK!! (get the FUK away BITCH), and Wailing!!! (anything from ‘I am alarmed’ to ‘I’m impatient!!’ to 'stocks are down and im upset about that') Given their smaller range of noises, context is important for humans to determine the meaning behind cries. For instance, a wail can mean “i LOVE YOU, and i MISS YOU, come here my love!” or “BeGONE intruder!” with the only difference being slightly softer or louder/sharper. Oh and babies pretty much cry nonstop, typically begging for food.

Exiting strictly non-fiction stuff now. Taking what I know of birdcalls, I’ve put (too much) thought into how a bird’s ‘language’ is formed. So here’s my attempt to explain how a bird conveys their meaning through their calls (without over/under explaining hopefully…)

There are different ‘sentence structure’ parts to a call. The first would be the [Type] of call used: such as a caw or a hiss or a trill. So basically the difference between a human shouting, whispering, or talking, etc. Next would be what I’m going to label the [Rhythm]. This is the overall ‘word’ structure, such as how many notes/syllables are used in a call. A single chirp would be a monosyllabic rhythm VS an ‘ee-chup’ two syllable call VS a repeating ‘wak-wak-wak’ where the amount of times repeating the note alters the meaning slightly. I play pretty loose and fast with the kinds of sounds birds make in this fic because honestly I don't know enough to know what sound would be used in every situation, and also it's fic so it doesn't matter lol. But I'm trying to stick close to reality tho because, I mean, I've already done the research. Might as well?

Altering the Type of call/Rhythm is [Volume], [Pitch], [Frequency], and [Spacing]. Volume is self-explanatory: ‘wonk’ holds a very different meaning than ‘WONK’. The Pitch is how each individual note is pitched in the Rhythm: such as ‘ee-chup’ VS **_‘ee-_ **chup’. Basically equivalent to human intonation. Frequency is how high or low the call registers: basically how shrill or low it sounds from note to note. Spacing is the length between notes: ‘chirp…chirp…chirp’ Vs ‘chirpchirpchirp’. You can think of these variables like how a human might alter the way they hum.

OKAY with the technical linguistics out of the way (you asked for this, YOU exploded my hand-grenade of bird linguistics, I warned you) I’m almost back to the actual fic. Last topic is how human babies/children passively learn language. Babies are primed to hear and learn languages like sponges. There are subtle differences in languages that can be hard for non-native speakers to tell apart. Such as how Japanese speakers have difficulty distinguishing between English R/L sounds, as their language only uses R (this is a very generalized summary). Or the difference between Russian Щ and Ш to an English ear. Growing up with these sounds makes it easypeasy to tell apart. SO the point of this tangent is that by growing up with these bird-calls aimed at him, Claude naturally distinguishes minute differences in tone, pitch, etc that a regular human can’t. (Mind, some noises potentially can’t be fully heard by human ears, but ignore that. What I don’t know can only haunt me from a distance)

I lied, one more tangent. I promise it’s related. In the wild, cats stop vocally meowing after a certain age. They instead communicate mostly in ways humans can’t detect (aside from hissing and growling). However, when around humans, a cat typically learns that a human responds to meows, thus leading house cats to be vocal. This is purely speculation on my part, but I figure: birds are smart. Ama has a baby human she has adopted and the baby is poor at responding to her non-verbal communication. The baby’s parents chatter nonstop to the baby and to each other, so humans chatter to each other! Sure enough, chattering to the baby beyond the basic leads to good results. Thus: Ama is more vocal around her human bby than other birds typically are. Her human bby also grows up to be very dumb (ie: a human, who doesn't instinctively understand bird instinct) so she has to talk even _more_ to get her meaning across often times. Any bird would know that feather hygiene is a top priority! Just because her human bby's feathers are weird and stringy and only on his head doesn't mean he can ignore them!

Ama only has ‘words’ for concepts she knows. These typically relate to survival. Between her and Claude, they’ve jury-rigged together some ‘words’ to cover more topics, but she’s still only a bird. She's not going to understand a lot of human things.

One thing I lightly touched on is that Claude learned Ama’s tongue passively. He’s never had to study anything as there _aren’t_ any hard-and-fast rules. He’s a master at code-switching (meaning flipping languages/accents/ways of speaking (ie: switching between formal speech to one’s boss and casual speech to one’s friends at the bar)). As a child he quickly learned he’d get weird looks for his ‘bird-speak’ at best, reprimands or teasing at worst. So he only speaks it to Ama and never thought much about it. It’s normal to him, he never thought to question it. Which means he’ll be shit at actively trying to teach it in any way other than immersion (sorry Dimi, no fluency for u).

Another tiny detail that I've slightly touched on is that Dimitri picked up the call specifically for _‘Come here stupid child’_ rather than a simple _‘Come here’_ because Claude’s typically exasperated when he resorts to calling for Noodle around him. Specifically it would look like [Come here, Child][-Mild Irritation]. (This is also Ama’s most typical way of calling Claude).

There’s the [Subject] followed by the [-Information] attached to it (sometimes more than one). The [Subject] is the base Rhythm/Type of call, and the [-Information] is the added variables of pitch, tone, etc. [Subject]s are typically verbs/nouns but not always. [-Information] is typically things that alter the subject, such as emotion, distance, variables, etc. An example, Ama saying “Dangerous people are coming, go and hide” would translate in Claude’s head as “[Danger, predator][-Nearby][-Alarm], [Hide][-Urgent]” but to anyone else it sounds like a run-of-the-mill series of bird shrieks.

If the [Subject] involves a target, it has a comma to specify. For instance, when Claude's talking to Noodle, he adds her into the subject (in this case 'Child' because Bird-Language doesn't typically have names for people/creatures). So "Go to sleep, Noodle" = "[Sleep, Child]" plus any additive depending on his mood ([-Fondness] if he's feeling fond, [-irritation] of he's annoyed, etc.) If it was just [Sleep] that might be referring to himself, or to Dimitri, or to Noodle, or just that sleep is a concept. Another example is [Danger], as sometimes specifying the kind of danger is very important. So [Danger, predator] is different from [Danger, fire] or [Danger, illness], etc. 

Some examples of [Subject] and [-information] vocabulary that Ama knows:

[I am here]/[Nearby]/[Distant] [Come][Go] [Eat] [Food] [Stop] [Hide] [Fight] [Run/Fly] [Preen] [Territory] [Protect] [Mate] [Nest/Bed] [Flock/Family] [Yes][No] [Give][Receive]

[-Praise] [-Reprimand] [-Comfort] [-Confusion] [-Annoyance] [-Agree][-Disagree] [-Impatience] [-Concern] [-Alarm] [-Fear] [-Loneliness] [-Like][-Dislike] [-Far][-Near]

(Can be mixed up depending on subject structure)

Some example sentences translated into Ama:

“You’re not supposed to be here” = [Go away][-Reprimand]

“Put your damned book away and go to _sleep_ already” = [Sleep, Child][-Irritation] (and physically getting between Claude and his book)

“You went to bed on time, I’m so proud of you” = [Sleep, Child][-Praise][-Surprise] (begin gentle preening)

“Back the fuck away from my Human bby” = Unholy screeching

“We’re alone, you can stop hiding now” = [Danger, predator][-Distant] [Child][-Calm]

“So you got stuck again. And you wonder why I still treat you like a child.” = [I am here, Child][-Disappointment][-Unsurprised]

“I have brought you a hare to eat, picky brat.” = [Gift Food][-Irritation][-Mild Fondness]

“I dipped the perfectly good hare in fire and ruined it, just for you, so eat already” = [Gift Food (repeat x3)][-Irritation][-Reluctant Fondness]

“Another human was eating this, you have no excuse to not eat this.” = [Gift Food][-Smug]

“Ama, this is literally trash. Stop pulling stuff out of garbage cans” = “Ama, [Food][-Bad]. [Reject Gift][-Dislike]. [Beg for Food][-Recent/Fresh (repeat x3)]”

It's not 100% consistent, but that's birds for ya. [insert excuse here] I'll probably take some liberties if I end up using more of this in conversation, because I want people to be able to understand what I've written more than I want to test out this lite language system. This chapter has been a little bit of a trail run, so let me know in the comments if it read okay. Thanks for coming to my bird tedtalk!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mari: Can you help me plan a date with Hilda? I don't know how to be romantic...  
> Claude, internally: shit man, me neither. I'm not the person to ask  
> Claude, externally: You bet I can help!
> 
> Mari: Um... Claude, why are animals attracted to you?  
> Claude: They just want the dry cave.  
> Mari: oh no. hilda was right. you really are dumb
> 
> Claude: I must hide the fact that I can somewhat communicate with Noodle from Marianne  
> Mari: I must hide the fact that animals can communicate with me from Claude
> 
> Animals: o no he is upset :c !!! must comfort!!!!!  
> Claude: this isn't hELPING
> 
> Noodle: I am filled with youthful hubris
> 
> Let me know if Claude and Noodle talking together gets too confusing. I'm trying to balance it to be easy to read but also make sense as a concept. It's an experiment ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	17. Mystery Box (Warning: May cause distress to overly-curious individuals)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Claude is doomed, still a nerd, and some sPICY happens (kinda)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ended up splitting this chapter in half so it wouldn't be 20k lol. Hopefully everything still makes sense despite that...

The world ground to agonizing slowness as he witnessed the impending march of his doom. With the certainty of a soon-to-be dead man, Claude recognized he’d grown complacent.

Choking silence descended as the damning evidence was thrust onto his desk. He could only curse himself for not planning for this situation. Utterly foolish to assume he was safe, to assume that no one would find out.

How did his secret get out? He’d been careful. _No one_ in all of Fódlan should know. Not even his grandfather or Judith knew. Where did he miscalculate? If he hadn’t been so wrapped up in frivolous school activities, would he have seen this betrayal coming? If he had acted more vigilant, could he have avoided this grisly outcome?

Gasps echoed through the room. _Everyone knew about him._ Soon was to come their shock, followed by outrage. Hilda would be the most angered by his secret. He tensed in preparation to run or defend himself. Leonie was another likely candidate to get angry (and possibly violent) for his deception. Lorenz would doubtlessly berate him, but that was at least an easy thing to deal with. The tricky part would be gagging the prim noble from telling his father. Marianne, Ignatz, and Raphael likely would merely be upset. Lysithea could go either way, being the volatile wildcard in this scenario.

But before that outrage, in the precious few seconds he had left, he needed to act. He considered lying. He could deny it. That would raise other uncomfortable questions, which would lead to more and more lies. The steely blue eyes boring past all his defenses wouldn’t be fooled. They _knew._ He couldn’t lie his way out of this impending disaster. Playing dumb wouldn’t work. Deflection might work in the short term, but that would only delay the inevitable. 

Out of options, with no plan in place, he could only accept his fate.

A bead of sweat trickled down his back. He smirked, raising an eyebrow. “It’s not very nice to spring something like this on a fella, Teach.”

They just _stared_ at him.

“Is this for real?” Leonie was the first of his classmates to speak up, rising in volume. “Seriously?!”

“You didn’t tell me!” Hilda stood and shouted at him, jabbing her finger in accusation. Her face was a mix of betrayal and anger plain for all to see.

Claude raised his hands to placate her, aware it was pointless. “You’re blowing things out of proportion. I assumed you knew.”

“What lies. You hid this information from us. Another scheme from you, just as you always pull. You hold no consideration for your peers!”

“No one asked me. I never lied, never hid a thing. But _sure,_ just another scheme of mine.” He winked.

“Must you be so difficult in all things?!” Lysithea blew up at him. _Damn,_ he was hoping for her indifference. “Some _notice_ is to be expected!”

“Notice for what? Calm down, it’s no big deal. It slipped my mind, I forgot. We have more pressing matters to be concerned with, after all. The archbishop is scheduled to be attacked in a few days. Now’s not the time for me to cause a distraction.”

“Aww, don’t say that! You’re important, not a distraction!” Raphael gave him a sad look. “It’s a huge deal!”

Hilda threw back her head. _“Uuuuuugh,_ sometimes I hate being friends with you. Great. Just _great._ Do you know how much work this is going to be?”

“Work?” He laughed. “What work? Is saying two extra words to me too much work for you?”

She glared at him. “I’ll give you three words, just for you: happy birthday, asshole.”

He pouted, keeping a close eye on her hands in case he needed to dodge. “My own bestie, calling me an asshole on my birthday. Not feeling very loved here.”

His classmates chipped in their own birthday well-wishing, from begrudging to chipper to timid. 

“Happy birthday, Claude,” Teach was the last to say, toneless as always. They gestured to the damning red flowers on his desk. The ‘birthday-flowers’ that Teach only gave out on someone’s birthday. The flowers that made it obvious that today was his birthday.

“Thanks Teach. Gotta ask though, why spring these on me in class?” He poked at the small vase of birthday-flowers. Typically they gave the flowers out after tea. A _private_ tea party, where no one else would know that Teach gave him birthday-flowers. He’d been a model student recently (more or less) so he didn’t know what Teach was punishing him for. 

They shrugged. “I’m busy after class, so now is the only time to give them to you.”

“Oh? Busy doing what?”

“Things.”

“Aw, not going to tell me? It’s my _birthday,_ you know.”

“Nope.”

He shrugged. “I know a pointless battle when I see one. Expect me to ask again during teatime.”

They tilted their head. “I’m busy today.”

He was thrown off for a beat. Teach _always_ made time to have tea with people on their birthday. Even with students from other classes, even _teachers and staff_ that they barely knew. He kept his smile loose, but his eyes narrowed. “Apologies for assuming. Thanks for the flowers.” The flowers that _outed him._ He thought Teach liked him as a student, but after this overt snub, doubt filled his mind.

What was their game? What were they playing at?

Teach went back to doing their job of teaching. No one paid attention to them. His classmates whispered to each other, him the obvious subject though they never spoke up enough for him to understand.

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell anyone,” Hilda muttered to him. “Not even me?”

“I told you, it slipped my mind.”

“Nothing slips your mind. You love parties and big feasts. The birthday of our house leader would’ve been an _excellent_ excuse.”

“There’s a planned assassination plot on the archbishop in two days. Now’s not the best time for a feast.” Why did assassination plots always seem to revolve around his birthday? Wait, that was a stupid question, he knew the answer. Hopefully his classmates wouldn’t uphold that particular tradition. His last birthday had been the best of his life: no one knew. No expectations, no stuffy traditions, and best of all no assassination attempts. A shame he couldn’t keep _that_ tradition alive.

Hilda was silent for the rest of class. She stared at him, but at least she was quiet (unlike the rest of his murmuring classmates). He sunk into the swamp of his mind to plan damage control. Plenty was on his mind: the upcoming mission, Teach’s snub, his hissing classmates. But one problem was much louder than the rest, ballooning until it was all he could think about:

 _He could_ not _allow Dimitri to know about his birthday._

He might not know the prince perfectly, but it wasn’t hard to predict what his reaction would be: Dimitri would feel hurt that Claude didn’t trust him. Dimitri would blame himself and turn all gloomy and droopy. Claude knew he could say it wasn’t the blond’s fault until he was breathless. It wouldn’t matter. Dimitri took blame onto himself like fish took to water. Claude didn’t want to deal with that. He didn’t want to be the _cause_ of that. And most of all, he didn’t know how he would fix it. His little homesickness episode was more than enough proof that Dimitri wasn’t shy of blaming himself for things.

And if Claude was particularly unfortunate, Dimitri wouldn’t just be upset. He would be _mad._ He doubted the prince would stoop to lashing out but he couldn’t ignore the possibility.

Gods, he shouldn’t be fooling around with Dimitri like this. Pretending and presenting whatever mask benefited him the most was Claude’s _thing._ Around Dimitri though, more and more he found his masks chafing. Claude _liked_ being himself around Dimitri. He felt like he could relax around the prince (a dangerous feeling). Dimitri made him feel somewhat safe, both physically and emotionally.

The problem was that sometimes Claude’s smile slipped as he got comfortable. When his smile slipped, Dimitri took it the wrong way. It was something he should have known to expect. Claude didn’t bottle up his emotions. It was important to examine them to give himself insight in both himself and what caused those reactions. Typically he either meditated in the mornings or rested with some animals. Animals never cared if he got a little melancholic or frustrated. But Dimitri cared. And Dimitri loved to blame himself.

He got to work outlining a plan to keep Dimitri out of the know.

When class got out, the first thing he did was beeline for the Blue Lions classroom. He kept a close eye on his classmates, breathing a sigh of relief when they collectively went in a different direction. Claude _needed_ to keep Dimitri away from the rest of the Golden Deer. All it would take was a well-meaning Raphael loudly asking Claude if he had any ‘birthday plans’ and the secret would be out.

“Your Princeliness! Just the lion I was looking for.”

Dimitri greeted him with a star-melting smile that turned his insides into mush. “What a coincidence, I was just about to come find you myself.”

He wasted no time throwing his arm around Dimitri’s shoulders. “Oh? How mysterious! Whatever reason might you have to find lil’ ol’ me?”

“Your company, of course.” _Fuck,_ Dimitri was going to _kill him_ with that unreal sincerity. His impossibly soft smile didn’t help things, nor the way his blue eyes seemed glued to Claude. After only a moment of hesitation, Dimitri snaked his arm around Claude’s waist. Slowly but surely Claude was beating that Faerghus aversion to touch out of him. “Do you have plans for today? I was thinking… provided you aren’t busy, there is something special I wish to show you.”

“Oooh, mysterious. Not really planning on anything. Need to check up on Noodle. Otherwise I figured I’d haunt the library. Maybe go out for a nice nature walk. It’s a nice day to relax.” _And stay_ away _from his nosy classmates._

“To your room, then.”

A small issue presented itself just before reaching the dorms: Raphael was talking to Flayn.

“You’ll never guess what today is!” Raphael shouted at Flayn. “It’s a special day!”

The younger girl was just as excited as Raphael. “Please inform me! What news have I missed today? I miss class, but my brother has been… protective, what with the upcoming ceremony.”

“Oh yeah, I totally get it. I’d be worried about my little sis if she was here too! But I gotta tell you about what happened!”

Not even _five minutes_ after class and already Dimitri was seconds from finding out. Claude pointed into the alley between the dorms. “Hey, look at that!” He tugged at the prince, leading him away from Raphael.

Lucky for Claude, the alley wasn’t empty. Unlucky for him, the flock of magpie were just as eager as always to say hello to him. 

Dimitri chuckled. “Is there any animal in the monastery you haven’t befriended?”

Claude gave him a flat look in return. Unfortunately, being covered in birds rendered him impossible to be taken seriously. He heaved a long sigh. “I feed _one_ bird, and this is the result. Birds gossip as much as wyverns, I swear.”

It took him a few minutes to convince the birds to get off of him, not helped by Dimitri’s occasional bouts of laughter. Dimitri had a very nice, very distracting laugh. In the end what mattered was that Claude’s distraction worked and that Raphael and Flayn were both gone.

Upon entering his room, Noodle exploded out of the kitten pile (leaving in her wake three grumpy kittens) as she greeted the two of them. The poor wyvern caught a minor cold from being out in the rain. Lucky for her it wasn’t half as bad as a human cold. She slept more, got cold easier, was snotty, and frequently sneezed.

“Did you have a nice nap?” Dimitri plopped onto the floor to let Noodle crawl into his lap. Claude smiled at the scene and took advantage of Dimitri’s distracted state. Using his back to block Dimitri’s sight, he pulled the red flowers from Teach out of his jacket and hid them in his drawer. _There._ No one needed to know. 

With his evidence hidden, he turned back around. He picked Noodle up off of Dimitri and took her place. After taking a moment to get cozy curling up against Dimitri, he looked up. He took no small delight in Dimitri’s pinkened cheeks. “So let’s hear this mystery proposition, Your Royalness.”

He cleared his throat, eyes darting back and forth between Claude and the wall. His hands twitched, fidgeted, and hovered before he finally came to a decision and circled them around Claude. After another familiar beat of hesitation, he went a step further to pull Claude a little more snug to himself. “Apologies. What, ah, what was your question again?”

Before he could repeat himself, Noodle got fed up at being ignored. She headbutted under his chin, whining for pets. One of his hands was stuck between himself and Dimitri, his other arm being sat on by Noodle. “Heh, just a second girl. I asked wha—ah!”

Noodle grumbled and started licking his ticklish throat. Caught off guard, he was unprepared to stop the sudden laughter that interrupted him. He scrambled to free his hands and push her away, but between Dimitri’s hold and his laughing he found it difficult to manage.

Eventually Noodle gave him mercy and stopped. Not because she was merciful to her beloved adopted parent, but rather because she started sneezing all over his throat. Out of breath from laughing so hard, he could only groan. “Hoo… thanks for the save, prince. _Not.”_

“Sorry!” Dimitri hiked his shoulders by his ears, cheeks red but grin decidedly not guilty. “I thought you might laugh yourself onto the floor if I moved my arms.”

He rolled his eyes and as revenge used Dimitri’s cape to wipe the wyvern slobber and snot off his throat. His revenge was thwarted as Dimitri took the blue cloth from his hand and carefully cleaned the rest of the fluid away. He nearly expired on the spot. Maybe it was because of how gentle Dimitri was being, or how tender his expression was, or how careful he was to not throw Claude into another laughing fit, or the fact that he was touching _Claude’s throat_ and it didn’t even scare him. The throat was a weak point. But for some reason, he found he really liked baring his throat to Dimitri. He jotted that onto his mental list of _‘things he didn’t expect to learn about himself.’_

“What do you have planned today?” Claude blurted, desperate to get a handle on the unfamiliar feelings in his chest.

“It’s a surprise.”

“What _kind_ of surprise?”

“You’ll like it. I assume you will, at least. If not, we can do whatever you want. Is that acceptable?” 

“I suppose…” With any luck, Dimitri wasn’t planning on luring him away to stab him.

They immediately left (after spending ten minutes to coddle Noodle… and another five visiting with the kittens… and another ten again to settle Noodle back to sleep…) Dimitri walked at a faster pace than usual, forcing Claude to almost jog in order to keep up. “Is this ‘surprise’ time sensitive? You’re in a hurry.”

Dimitri flinched. He hunched his shoulders and clasped his hands together, refusing to make eye contact. “Apologies.” Dimitri offered nothing else and only slowed down slightly. 

Dimitri’s rush and single-minded focus wound up in Claude’s favor. As they passed the pond, he noticed a cluster of Golden Deer were _loudly_ talking near the dining hall. Their conversation seemed mundane and Claude doubted Dimitri was even paying attention, but he was nonetheless grateful to be out of the danger zone as they entered the marketplace.

Dimitri finally slowed to a stop. The prince fidgeted before making reluctant eye contact with him. “I, ah… I forgot that I need to pick something up. While we just so happen to be in the marketplace. Do you mind…?”

 _Curious._ “Don’t mind at all. What’cha getting? Let me guess, chamomile?” Doubtful, given how suspicious he was acting.

“No, no. My stock is filled, have no worries. Ah! Here we are…” 

Dimitri crept over to a stall Claude was familiar with: Anna’s stall. Anna was an expensive merchant to buy from but for the right price she could supply nearly anything. That Dimitri was picking something up from _her_ meant it wasn’t any standard order.

“Hey!” A voice from behind him shouted. “What’s with the price increase? You sold some sugar to _me_ a few days ago for half the price!”

The merchant didn’t know how to deal with an irate Lysithea. Claude could relate: the only two options were to either bribe her with sweets or duck for cover. Or in his case, to see how far he could wind her up. Whatever the issue was, she was already tightly wound.

Claude’s eyes darted between Dimitri and the increasingly loud Lysithea. As much as he _needed_ to know about Dimitri’s surprise, he really should prevent Lysithea from murdering a random merchant. Teach would have his head if they found out he was nearby and did nothing. Not that he was too keen to play teacher’s pet at the moment.

Moving two stalls down, Claude approached with his hands clasped behind his head. “Is there a problem?”

Lysithea whirled on him. “There certainly is!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Cyril murmured, head bowed and eyes low. “C’mon Lysithea, please don’t make a scene.”

“It’s _wrong!_ Claude, this merchant is trying to scam Cyril! They can’t do that!”

The merchant cleared his throat. “It’s well within my rights to add an extra fee for an Almyran.”

“I’m going to report you!” Lysithea jabbed a finger at them. “And I’m never buying anything from you ever again! Come on Cyril, we’re leaving!”

Cyril slowly nodded. “Sorry. This would’a been easier if I didn’t come.”

“I’m _glad_ you came. Now that I know that merchant’s true colors, I won’t buy from him. Hmph. Claude, you better not buy from him either! I’m telling the professor and the other Deer too!”

Claude took the opportunity to ruffle her hair, earning him a death glare. “Good to know. Look at you, hitting a merchant where it hurts: a boycott! You’re growing up so fast.”

“If it wasn’t your birthday, I’d light you on fire for touching my hair.”

His eye twitched. He spread his hands and shook his head as he laughed, carefully checking behind him. _Dimitri was still with Anna, good._ “How merciful of you. What are you two buying? Rather, attempting to buy.”

“None of your business. Come on Cyril, we have much to do.” Lysithea snatched Cyril’s hand and started walking away.

Cyril spared a hasty wave to Claude as he was tugged away. “Happy birthday!”

Plastering a smile, he winked at Cyril before he whipped around to check on Dimitri again. Heaving a sigh, Dimitri was still enraptured in his conversation with the chatty merchant. Returning to Dimitri’s side, he peered at what he bought.

A simple wooden box. He reached out to open it, only for Dimitri to snatch his wrist. Dimitri gave him a flat look. He raised his eyebrow in return. Dimitri shook his head. He pouted. He wiggled his fingers. He darted his eyes between Dimitri and the box, silently begging Dimitri to let him take a peak. Biting his lip, Claude was certain he had the prince right up until Anna cleared her throat. Dimitri let go of him but clutched the wooden box to his chest.

“So what’s in the box?” Claude asked as soon as they left Anna’s stall.

“I am beginning to think sealed objects are the bane of one Claude von Riegan,” Dimitri _teased_ him, far too smug. “Have some patience.”

“Not my fault I’m curious. A bit too thin and long to hold a book. Too much room to hold a dagger or weapon. Could hold tea, but if it does that’s one hell of an inefficient tea-leaf holder. You got it from Anna, so it must have been expensive and rare. If I didn’t know you like I do, I might guess it’s empty just to mess with me.”

Dimitri spared him a smile. “That would be cruel.”

“Exactly! You know what else is cruel? This suspense.”

“I promise you I’ll show you in a bit. But I want to show you something first.”

“Oh? Is this box not your mysterious mystery surprise?”

Dimitri shook his head and led Claude past the marketplace and out of the monastery. “You’ll see.”

“A hike? But why the box? Just where are we going?” Now that they weren’t around people, Claude latched onto Dimitri. Just like earlier, Dimitri reached to wrap around his waist. Claude heaved an overdramatic sigh, flinging his arms around Dimitri’s shoulders and flopping his head against him. “Is this torture? You’re torturing me. I don’t like this mean streak of yours.”

Finally he got something different out of Dimitri. The blond bit his lip, tensing. “Here I thought you would appreciate the suspense.”

“I _might_ if I had anything to go off of! Give me a hint. Or how about a peek, a peek would be great. Just a quick, tiny little look?” Already tired of slumping against Dimitri and trying to walk, Claude forewent walking entirely. With a simple and practiced motion he braced himself against Dimitri’s shoulders and swung his legs up and around Dimitri’s chest, perching himself on the strong blond’s back the same way he would a wyvern. 

Dimitri didn’t even _stutter_ under Claude’s weight. Claude loved a lot of things about Dimitri and his effortless strength was high on that list. Rock solid, not even needing to readjust his balance. The hand that held his waist a moment ago twitched. 

“That was — v-very graceful. You’re, ah, good at climbing. Me. I-I mean, climbing in general! I assume.”

It was cute how flustered Dimitri got when he did this. Less flustered than last time he jumped on his back, unfortunately. Dimitri was getting used to him. “Ride wyverns as long as I have and you’ll be just as good at this. This is nothing compared to flying upside down.”

“U-upside… down?!”

While Dimitri was distracted, he reached down to the case. Dimitri still held it tightly to himself, but if Claude could just wiggle it out of his grip… “Sure. I don’t recommend it, but everything’s easy after you spend a flight clinging to a wyvern’s belly.”

“Please tell me that you are messing with me.”

“No can do!” He rested his chin on Dimitri’s head, enjoying being a bit taller. As much as Dimitri’s strength was appealing, it was making it difficult to squeeze the case away from him. “I see why Noodle likes this spot so much.”

“Thanks,” Dimitri croaked. “I’m glad you… Claude!”

 _Busted._ Dimitri batted Claude’s hand away from the case. He stopped walking in order to try and sternly stare at Claude. Twisting his head side to side, Claude decided to take pity on Dimitri. He laid his head down on Dimitri’s shoulder to meet eye to eye with him.

Dimitri’s face was already pink but he flushed darker with Claude only a few inches apart. He took a deep breath. “A-ahem. A valiant attempt to… ah, to distract me. Please Claude, I am begging for your patience. I _know_ you can be patient. Just a little longer.”

Claude cobbled together a miserable expression, widening his eyes and projecting his best ‘starving kitten’ look. He let his upper half slump limply against Dimitri, heaving a sigh. “But…”

Dimitri’s flush evolved into panic. “Are you upset with me? I promise I’ll show you soon, I just want it to be a surprise!” There was a creak of wood as Dimitri’s grip on the box grew tight. He flinched and nearly dropped the box. He bowed his head, hiding his face from Claude. “Blast. I’m sorry Claude, I… I can’t do anything right. If you don’t want a surprise… I suppose you can look.”

Claude’s hand hovered over the box Dimitri offered. He pushed it back down into Dimitri’s arms through sheer force of will. “Don’t worry so much. I’m just teasing. Clearly I went too far. I’m not serious. I mean, I _am_ dying of curiosity, but I can wait. A little bit, at least.” He poked Dimitri’s warm cheek. “Now how about you march us over to your special secret spot, mm?”

Dimitri peered up to wobble a smile at him as he started walking again. “I should have realized. You enjoy my gullibility far too much.”

“It _is_ very endearing, I must admit.”

“Your curiosity for every little detail is what is truly endearing. And admittedly sometimes a touch taxing in your persistence.” 

“Did you just call me annoying?”

“No! Not at all, that wasn’t what I meant!”

Claude laughed. “I’m teasing again. Pestering is one of my prime tactics to ferret people’s secrets, you know this. Besides, I’ve been called far worse than annoying.”

“I don’t find you annoying,” Dimitri sullenly denied. “Direct me to anyone that does and I will set them straight.”

Claude snorted. Was he oblivious to the rampant and unfavorable gossip mill that followed Claude? He must be. “My knight in shining armor.”

“I feel more like a horse than a knight at the moment,” Dimitri softly chuckled, the noise scrambling Claude’s brain.

“Aha. Sounds like you don’t mind so much.” How was it possible for Dimitri to have such a cute laugh? He needed that little chuckle in his life more often.

Dimitri reached up to pat his arm. “Not at all. As you said the first time, what’s the difference between carrying Noodle and carrying you?” Dimitri laughed again, nervous but no less cute. “You are both so light.”

“I weigh _much_ more than Noodle.”

Dimitri shrugged. “If you say so.” _Dammit._ Dimitri just didn't play _fair._ “You both have a penchant to ride me without so much as a warning.”

“If you don’t want to be ridden, you shouldn’t look so rideable!”

“I never said I minded. Quite the opposite. I think you both just enjoy being taller.”

“Is that a knock at my height? Just you wait, I’ll get a growth spurt one of these days and I’ll tower over you.”

“Is that so? I suppose you will have no reason to ride me in such a case.”

“Don’t be like that. Sure I will!”

“Ah, we’re here.” Dimitri stopped.

“The forest? We’ve been walking through the forest for a while now.”

“I thought you might find it interesting…” Dimitri knelt by a moss-covered log. “Do you see it?”

“The moss…?”

Dimitri brushed some moss off the log. It wasn’t a log, but rather stone. Stone with _straight lines_ and _twisting patterns._

Claude hopped off of Dimitri to get closer. “This is man-made.” He traced the patterns. “What kind of style is this? I feel like I’ve seen this before.”

“There’s more.” Dimitri pointed ahead.

Claude’s eyes widened. What he _thought_ was a large shrub was in fact a small _shed_ overgrown by foliage. A _stone_ shed. Long roots of a tree trickled down the stone, further camouflaging the structure. Tearing at a patch of overgrowth and moss, he unveiled the same twisting patterned design carved into the wall. Inside the shed, the floor was at least a foot deeper than the forest floor. Dirt and plants overtook the empty little room. 

“How did you find this? What is it?” 

“I admit I didn’t find it myself. As for what it is, I have no idea. You have Marianne to thank, in truth. She informed me of the spot, suggesting it was a place you might find interest in. I see she was correct. Next you see her, would you please thank her for me? She ran away before I could tell her myself…”

Claude shook his head. “I’ll do that. You two are rather similar, you know. You’d both get along great.” His focus returned to the mystery shack. “This is impressive stone work. It’s got some decay, but what with all this overgrowth I’m surprised it’s not more rundown.” He gave a shove against the wall. “Stable too! Not even a budge. How old is it? Who built it? Why build smack in the middle of the Oghma mountains? Maybe it’s an old hunter’s resting shack? But why _solid stone?_ Hey, I don’t even see a seam anywhere! How was this built?” He rubbed his fingers against the geometric design carved into the wall. “Doubt this is a hunting shack with _these_ complex designs. Not unless it was for someone rich. Maybe an old place of worship…? Pre-Seiros maybe?”

He circled the small structure twice trying to place the architecture. Despite the simplicity of the building, it was nothing like typical Fódlan buildings. It was a closer fit to Almyran architecture, but still not even close. It was wholly unique to anything Claude knew. Except it was _familiar._ He _had_ seen something like it before but he couldn’t remember where.

About ten minutes of pacing and mumbling and questioning later he paused in his tracks. Sheepishly he glanced back at Dimitri. “Heh, got a little carried away. You could’ve said something.”

“Why would I? You’re enjoying yourself.”

“More like winding myself in circles,” he chuckled and rubbed his neck. “I’ve rambled enough, you must be bored.” He joined Dimitri on the stone ‘log’. “Gah, I forgot about this! How does this fit into the picture? Maybe a buried building? No, that doesn’t make sense. I don’t see any broken parts of the shack, so it can’t be debris from it. What… ah, better stop before I go off again.”

“Perhaps it’s a bench. It works well for one.”

Claude snapped his fingers. “A bench! Rather long, but maybe… Better than any theory I can think of. Anyways, I’m sure you didn’t come out here to listen to me ramble on architectural theory.”

“I actually found your questions very interesting. Your mind is truly something to behold. I never would have thought to ask even a fraction of your questions!” It was times like these where Dimitri’s blue eyes were too piercing. 

“Well thanks Your Royalness. My mind is my sharpest tool.” He winked. “Still, I won’t be offended if you found my riveting musing over soil layer composition boring.”

“Nonsense. You make any topic impossible to ignore. Your passion alone is enough to enthrall me, and your voice is like listening to music.”

He blinked. “My voice? I _have_ been told I have a nice voice, but never quite like that.” He winked again. Winking was a proper response to compliments, right? How did he usually respond to compliments? _Glib fake smiles, empty words._ When people complimented him, they weren’t _genuine._ But Dimitri was. Dimitri _meant_ what he said, and Claude was still trying to wrap his head around that. “Careful or I’ll use that as an excuse to talk your ear off.”

He wished Dimitri would laugh, or roll his eyes, or do _anything_ that wasn’t earnestly smile at him. Not just in Claude’s direction; he smiled _at_ Claude, full eye contact and rapt attention. “A fate I could never begrudge. I will never grow tired of your voice.”

“Never say never. You haven’t heard me go on about various subspecies of fungus yet.”

“I have no doubt in my mind you could make any subject fascinating.”

 _Abort!_ “Hey can I finally see what’s inside the box? I’ve been _very_ patient for you, Your Highness.”

“Oh! Yes, of course. And how many times must I tell you that you can use my name?”

“Aww, sorry _Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd,_ but I enjoy nicknames.”

“Just open your box.”

Claude did just that. 

Glimmering golden patterns set into dark wood. That was what caught his eye first. The case was mostly empty, holding only a small cup and a velvet bag. Sprawled inside the case were flat familiar patterns spelling out that it wasn’t a mere wooden case. 

It was a portable backgammon board.

He traced the intricate designs twisting below the long triangles of the board. Thin lines of gold painted a deer and eagle dancing together with a char-black wyvern and leopard. At one end curled a black crescent moon, the other end a rising sun. Inside the velvet bag were dice and stones of back and gold to play. 

“I know you like board games and trying new things. Anna was selling it and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. You enjoy chess, but I thought you might enjoy trying something different. The deer and wyvern felt fitting.”

Claude whistled. “I’m impressed. This must have cost an arm and a leg.” Being an Almyran prince, he’d seen more ornate boards. Despite that, the board was _very_ nice.

“I won’t say it was cheap, but I believe the price was well worth it. Providing you like it…?”

His eyes lingered on the decorative Golden Eagle. He doubted anyone at the monastery would understand just how _Almyran_ the board was aside from maybe Cyril. Almyran Golden Eagle, Gold Deer, Royal Onyx Wyvern, and even an Ebon-spotted Leopard. If any four animals represented his fatherland, it was those. There was no way that Dimitri knew the significance. Dimitri knew he was recently homesick, but it wasn’t like Dimitri knew Claude was from Almyra. Dimitri didn’t know Claude missed Ama, herself a proud Golden Eagle. He thumbed over the eagle, positioned to fly diagonal above the deer. 

“I love it. Thank you.”

Dimitri perked up like a praised puppy. “Wonderful, I’m relieved.”

Smirking, Claude dangled the bag of stones at Dimitri. “Want to play a game?”

“That was the idea.”

He plopped the bag in Dimitri’s hands. “Perfect! So, how do we play?”

Claude’s poker face was excellent, but he struggled to keep it together as Dimitri flew into a panic. “Oh dear. Are there no instructions? Blast! I didn’t even consider that!”

“Do you even know what this game is called?”

Dimitri deflated. “I… do not. I suppose I was enchanted by the unique beauty of it. I considered nothing beyond that.”

Laughing, he patted Dimitri’s cheek. “Chin up! It’s called _backgammon._ I’ll gladly teach you.”

Dimitri sputtered. “You’re teasing me again!”

“How could I not? You’re the one that bought a game you didn’t know how to play!”

He went easy on Dimitri. Despite Dimitri’s clumsiness and… ‘unique’ strategy (or lack thereof) Claude couldn’t stop grinning. The prince was a quick study even if he couldn’t compare to Claude’s years of experience. It wasn’t the same as playing with his father or Nader, but it soothed his ache of homesickness nonetheless. There was no way Dimitri could have known, so for once Claude decided not to think too hard and chalked it up to fate.

As soon as Dimitri had the basics down, Claude started handicapping himself in unique ways to give Dimitri a chance. “I’m playing as Lorenz this round,” he announced and adopted a faux pompous accent. “Why, I cannot find it within my noble heart to march this noble stone. Nay, I shall instead march this dull commoner stone instead. Oh-ho, I am so witty!”

Time passed like water as the two of them ran their voices horse with chatter and laughter.

“You know,” he found himself saying to his surprise, “this board tells a story. It’s not just decoration for decorative purposes. It’s a very old story…” He trailed off. He shouldn’t tell such a blatantly Almyran story.

“Is that so? Will you tell it to me?”

“Who’s to say I know it?” he teased, earning him an eye roll. _“Oh,_ very well.” He _wanted_ to tell it though. He tapped the gold sprawl of the sun in front of him. It was his ‘home base’ and Dimitri’s endpoint goal. 

“Once, very long ago, Sun had a child. Mighty and shining with golden light, Sun is proud of his child Gold Deer. But Sun feared his child would be devoured. He proclaimed all creatures in the land forbidden from harming his child of gold, but those within Moon’s land couldn’t hear him.”

Claude tapped the section diagonal on the board. “Sun finds a solution in his worry by crafting a protector for his child: the Golden Eagle. Eagle protects Deer and the two become inseparable. So long as Deer remains within the realm of the Sun, danger is nothing but an afterthought.”

“Deer grows curious and desires to know more of the land of Moon. For you see, Sun is his father, but Moon is his mother. Deer decides he will meet his mother. Eagle thinks this a poor idea, but protects Deer no matter what. Eagle flies into the lands of Moon to scout ahead.”

He tapped Dimitri’s side of the board. “Meanwhile, Ebon Leopard prowls Moon’s lands. Leopard spots a shining light invading, so calls upon a fellow defender, Onyx Wyvern. The two are loyal to Moon, but in their dreams they have heard whispers of a new decree from Sun. Sun’s voice cannot enter Moon’s land, just as Moon’s voice cannot enter Sun’s land, but echoes can be heard at dawn and dusk.”

He traced over the charcoal-black crescent moon that acts as Dimitri’s ‘home base’ and his own end goal. “Moon wishes to know her husband’s decree, wishes to know why Sun has sent a spec of light to invade her land. She charges her two most trusted to deliver tidings to her husband and learn of his decree: Leopard her chosen heir and Wyvern her beloved shadow.”

He pointed to the black wyvern on his side. “Wyvern flies ahead, being the faster of the pair. Wyvern and Eagle clash together. _‘How dare you disobey Sun’s decree!’_ Eagle cries for being attacked. _‘How dare you trespass Moon’s lands!’_ Wyvern replies.”

“Eagle flies further and crashes into Leopard. _‘Do not eat me, for Sun decrees me sacred! Attempt to defy him, and I will take your eyes!’_ Leopard laughs. _‘I shall take you to Moon, then, and we shall see.’”_

“Wyvern flies further and crashes into Deer. _‘I may be weak, but I am child of Sun and Moon! Attempt to slay me, and I will take you with me!’”_ Deer gasps, for he did not know he had a brother. Neither knew of the other. For when Moon birthed Sun’s child, she too birthed the child’s shadow.”

“Leopard the Moon Heir and Eagle the protector bond as friends, and Deer and Wyvern bond as True Brothers. Deer the Sun Prince and his flying shadow are of two different lands, but they together accomplish much. But time passes and they all must go their separate ways to seek their goals. They made a competition to see who can achieve their endpoint first. And thus: we have our game. One side heads to Moon, the other side to Sun, and both sides engage in friendly competition to stop the other. All four become lifelong friends. In some variants of the story, Deer and Leopard even marry each other, forever bridging Night and Day.” There were plenty of tellings of the story with more violence, but this one was Claude’s favorite. It would be a nice story to share during the Golden Deer Story Hour, but it was _way_ too Almyran. Dimitri was a good enough audience for him.

“Such a beautiful story…” Dimitri flashed a golden smile so bright that, _really,_ he should be playing as the sun and not Claude. “I had no idea the board was anything other than decoration!”

“It’s just an old story, nothing more.” Claude pretended that he wasn’t flustered and moved on. By some mercy, Dimitri allowed it. They played more games, Claude hamming up his playstyle as Dimitri grew more comfortable with the rules.

“You could have taken my piece right here,” Dimitri called him out with a grin. “What excuse do you have for passing this opportunity?” 

He rolled his eyes like it was obvious. “I am a _respectable_ bandit. I only take the most premium of noble hostages!” He pointed to three of Dimitri’s stones at random. “Like a prince, princess, and handsome duke-to-be!”

“Ah-ha! Kostas, the bandit that attacked us at the beginning of the year. That’s who you’re ‘playing’ as, right?”

“Got it in one, Your Princliness!” He tapped his crescent endpoint of the board. “Now I must flee from the Knights of Seiros to Zanado! Hm, though if I win this match, still probably won’t go well for me and my poor stones. The Red Canyon wasn’t the safehaven they wanted.”

He frowned, something tickling at the back of his mind. His gaze swept down to the ‘bench’ and the worn designs along the side.

 _“Zanado!”_ he shouted, causing Dimitri to flinch and fling his stone in the air. “That’s where I’ve seen these patterns before!” Claude hopped up to kneel beside the ‘bench’ and traced the patterns. “These are much better preserved. How is this spot connected to the Red Canyon? They aren’t _too_ distant from each other, but what’s this random stone shack doing in the Oghma mountains anyways? Zanado is a ‘sacred’ place that only certain people are allowed to enter. But this random structure is just in the middle of the woods, nothing ‘sacred’ about it. Is it from the people that lived in Zanado before it fell to ruins? But _who_ lived there? Why is it considered ‘sacred’? What even caused it all to fall? These patterns don't match anything else I’ve seen in Fódlan, so what culture was this? A proto-culture that wasn’t aligned with the rest of the continent? What happened to them? Why…”

Dimitri’s hand settled on his shoulder. “As fascinating as you are, perhaps we should return soon. You’re shivering.”

He groaned, but Dimitri was right. “It’s getting late,” he defended himself. He forced himself to stop shivering; he wasn’t _that_ cold. “I hate that the church has nothing on Zanado other than ‘don’t go there without permission’. But I guess that’s just _another_ mystery to add onto the pile. If this shack exists, what else is hiding just out of sight?”

“If anyone can figure it out, it will be you.”

“You know me, I won’t stop until I know the truth.” He took one final look at the patterns, doing his best to memorize them. “Thanks for bringing me out here. As much as it pains me to admit: it was worth the wait.” Admittedly he was a very patient person, but it paid to convince others he wasn’t (and he didn’t _like_ waiting, he was just good at it when it was necessary).

His eyes drifted up to Dimitri. The prince finished putting the board together, closing it with a soft click. Dimitri turned from the board, eyes impossibly bright as they landed on him. He felt the urge to look away like he was caught peeking at something he shouldn’t; but when had that ever stopped him? He wasn’t sure he _could_ look away from the impossibly earnest smile growing on Dimitri’s lips. Not when that smile was aimed at _him._

“I’m so glad.” Dimitri stood, hesitantly extending a hand to him. His eyes dropped back down to the stonework, pretending he was taking in one last look. Pretending he didn’t feel an odd prickle of hesitation in return.

Just as Dimitri slowly pulled back, Claude snatched his hand. “Offering a hand to help me up? How princely of you, Your Princeliness!” Dimitri hauled him to his feet with that familiar effortlessness that never failed to impress him. Instead of letting go now that he was on his feet, Dimitri instead brought his other hand clasping over top of Claude’s. As captivating as Dimitri’s eyes were, he pulled his gaze down to look at their hands. He was fixed on the way Dimitri held his hand in his own, gentle and careful but firm. As if Claude might blow away if he let go.

That top hand only lingered for a short few seconds. As the glove retreated, Claude felt oddly disappointed. But Dimitri’s hand moved upwards, vanishing under his sight as Dimitri cupped his chin between leather fingers. His thumb slowly traced up Claude’s jaw, slowly tilting him to face those blue eyes again.

Dimitri’s eyes were painfully honest things. Impossibly intense in his focus: all on Claude. “Please forgive me if this sounds too forward, but… ah, I am certain I will say the wrong thing here. But I must tell you how your true smile lights up everything around you. You are so _vibrant_ Claude, I stand in awe of you.” Dimitri’s other hand let go, though Claude’s hand dumbly hovered in place even without Dimitri. Dimitri’s hand snaked down to his waist, cradling the small of his back. “Together with you, nothing feels impossible. You make me a better person, and at times you leave me with the impossible hope that I may someday find redemption for myself. Thank you for allowing me to stand by your side as your friend. I can only hope you will continue to allow me to stay, in whatever capacity you desire.”

 _Damn, more earnest compliments._ How did regular people deal with this sort of thing? Dimitri’s eyes pinned him, _seeing him._ He fidgeted, warring between squirming away and pulling closer. _Redemption? What did Dimitri need to be redeemed for? About Duscur, maybe?_ “You give yourself too little credit. It’s a two-way street here. I reached out my hand, but you’re the one who took it. Very few people want to get close to someone like me, but you’ve never hesitated. You haven’t pulled away, despite my prying and teasing.” He winked, scrambling to gather his usual silver-tongue.

Dimitri chuckled deeply, twisting Claude’s insides. “You would need to do far worse than some charming teasing to drive me away.”

“Oh, so now my teasing is ‘charming’?” His voice came out high.

“All of you is charming. So long as you’ll have me, I’ll remain by your side.” 

“You’re far too earnest,” he muttered. He didn’t know how to describe the expression that Dimitri directed at him. Dimitri was focused, like there was nothing in the world but him. Perhaps he was reading into the look. It was a tender expression, like how Dimitri looked at Noodle when she did something adorable. But it was more than that too. Maybe it was the way Dimitri’s grip tightened against his back, pulling him closer bit by bit until their hips pressed together. His hand, still in front of him, was squished between the two of them. It was a feat of willpower to _not_ explore and squeeze Dimitri’s hard abs. Maybe it was the thumb that petted his cheek. Maybe it was the gentle hold on his chin, forcing him to look up and into Dimitri’s intense expression. Maybe it was the way blond lashes fell over dark dilated eyes. Maybe it was the way Dimitri was getting closer.

Dimitri paused, nose-to-nose with him. Claude swallowed thickly. He liked the way Dimitri was looking at him but he hated the confusion and uncertainty that swam through his gut. He didn’t know _why_ he liked it. Claude was used to understanding himself and his emotions intimately, and he didn’t like this new unknown feeling. There was an energy to this, something different, and he didn’t understand.

Slowly, Dimitri inched forward again. Claude squeezed his eyes shut, his stomach falling out from under him like he was falling. Something was going on, but for the life of him he didn’t know what Dimitri was doing. He shouldn’t be afraid — this was Dimitri. Dimitri, the one person that made him feel safe in a world of threats. He felt like he was falling, but wasn’t that okay? Falling wasn’t scary, not when something was there to catch him. There were no wyverns here, but he had Dimitri. Dimitri would catch him.

Dimitri would catch him. So why was he so tense? Why was his heart pounding, why was he out of breath? Why did his stomach feel sick? Why did he feel poisoned? He _wasn’t,_ he was certain he wasn’t, but the symptoms were comparable. He wasn’t poisoned, he was _afraid._

Warm skin met warm skin as Dimitri pressed his forehead into Claude’s. The hand on his chin curled around to the back of his head. A sigh shuddered through him and though his confusion remained, some of his emotions settled. That hand on his back grew tight. They were already flush together. Dimitri pulled again, closer and _up,_ effortlessly hoisting his feet off the ground. He sighed again, a sound shaky and relieved as his sense of falling settled. Pressing his knees together, he curled his legs securely around Dimitri’s back, wrapping his free arm around Dimitri’s neck. His other hand, still trapped against Dimitri, fisted into fabric.

For an endless series of starburst moments, they stayed like that. Claude couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes even as the tension left his bones. He was still falling, but Dimitri had him now. Dimitri had him.

After a time, he shied away from Dimitri’s head and down to hide his face against the crook of his neck. He felt dizzy and feverish and confused but he didn’t feel _bad._ His fingers squeezed the back of Dimitri’s neck and against his stomach. Dimitri’s cheek pressed against his hair, puffs of air chilling the nape of his neck. 

This was very different from cuddling. 

“Thank you, my friend. You have nothing to fear.” Was he _that_ obviously out of his element to the point that Dimitri could see it? Slowly Dimitri rocked him side to side, pressing a chaste kiss to the side of his head. “I have you Claude, worry not. Happy birthday, my dearest friend.”

It took a few moments for the words to process. His brain was currently soup, so he deserved some slack. _‘Dearest’_ bounced around his skull plenty before the rest of it caught up. Jerking his head upright, he blinked rapidly at Dimitri. “Who told you?!”

Dimitri’s tender smile broke into something wider as he copied Claude, pressing his face against Claude’s neck to muffle growing laughter. Dimitri shook (in turn shaking Claude) as he began to lose control of his laughter. As much as his instinct was to feel upset by the betrayal, it was impossible to feel any anger in the face of Dimitri’s joy. Because the blond wasn’t laughing _at_ him (at least not in a malicious way). Even as Dimitri heaved, he was held so carefully, glove gently patting the back of his head.

Claude sighed, smiling despite himself. “I guess the sudden gift makes sense now.” _Shit,_ he knew next to nothing about birthday traditions in Fódlan. Was he obligated to return Dimitri’s generosity like he would be back home? Maybe not — Dimitri didn’t offer the gift as a ‘birthday’ present. Thus, he _shouldn’t_ be expected to return the generosity. Or if he was, Dimitri didn’t seem offended.

“Aha, indeed. Apologies. It’s such a rare instance to see you so genuinely surprised. Forgive me for taking joy in turning the tables on you for once.” 

“Here I thought you’d be upset I didn’t tell you.”

Dimitri peppered another cute laugh, shaking his head. “I would have done the same in your shoes. I’m no fan of celebrations over my birthday. I’ll admit I’m surprised you didn’t jump at the chance to throw a large feast, but I could never begrudge you for wanting a peaceful and quiet day.”

He made a mental note about that for Dimitri’s future birthday. “How did you figure it out?”

“The professor informed me a few days ago. They asked me… to… oh no. We’re late.”

He raised an eyebrow. “We’re ‘late’? To what?”

“Blast! Come, we must return immediately!” Given that Dimitri was literally carrying Claude, he didn’t wait to begin walking at a brisk pace, merely pausing to pick up the backgammon board.

“What did the professor ask you to do?” His eyes narrowed. “They’re ‘busy’ today. They wouldn’t tell me with what. But you know, don’t you.”

Dimitri’s mildly guilty expression said it all.

“What did they put you up to? Hold up, was this whole thing some sort of distraction? Is _that_ why you brought me out here?” He tried and failed to push himself away from Dimitri. He grunted but Dimitri didn’t react. The prince’s eyes were focused on the trail, not on Claude.

“No! Well, somewhat…? It’s not like that! The professor asked me to keep you from ‘snooping’ into their business. I desired to show you this place, so I took the opportunity to do both at the same time.” Dimitri nibbled on his lip. “Are you upset with me?”

“You’re lucky I had such a good time. But this? Can’t say I appreciate being conspired against.” He wiggled, not wanting to be dropped but also wanting to feel more in control over the situation. He nearly managed to squeeze himself out of Dimitri’s hold, only for those impossibly strong hands to clutch him tighter. Dimitri shifted him as though he were nothing but a large doll. The hand cradling his head lowered to wrap around his upper back, pushing his chest into Dimitri’s. They were already flush. He wheezed as the iron bar at his back threatened to crush the breath from his lungs. Lower, the hand carefully holding the small of his back wound further across, gripping his hip tightly.

“No! We are not _‘conspiring’_ against you!” Did Dimitri even _notice_ how tightly he held him? “I would never betray you. If I were to choose between the professor and you, I would choose you every time.” The fingers at his hip tightened, probably leaving bruises.

 _Gods,_ he should feel terrified. Instead he _liked_ the pressure. It was perfect. He could still breathe, it was just a little difficult. For some insane reason he decided that Dimitri could leave bruises anywhere he wanted. No, beyond that. He _wanted_ Dimitri to leave bruises. _Why?_ What was going on with him? How did Dimitri keep _doing_ this kind of thing to him? 

“Uh-huh, sure,” he squeaked out, far too breathy and high. “Aah, if it’s no… no conspiracy, then tell me wh…what they’re hiding.” He couldn’t even _squirm._ He was _trapped_ in Dimitri’s arms. Why wasn’t he afraid?! He couldn’t _stand_ feeling trapped! But wasn’t that why he loved napping with Dimitri? Dimitri _always_ clung to him like a steel cage. His knees curled tighter against Dimitri’s back and he pressed his cheek into the crook of Dimitri’s neck.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. I have my guesses of course, but they did not explicitly tell me much.”

“What are they hiding? What’s… so important?” _Why don’t they want to have tea with me?_ “Dimitri—”

As soon as that name left his lips, the prince’s steps stuttered. The hand on his hip eased to shift lower. Perhaps Dimitri was innocently hiking him up a little further. But it _was_ suspicious how that hand lingered on his ass. _No, surely Dimitri was just holding him up._ A shiver ran through him. He bit down hard on his cheek, desperately fumbling for the smallest inch of control. A wheeze — _no, a keen —_ unwillingly left his throat. The arm on his back was so tight. _Possessive._ He wanted — he wanted — 

He didn’t know _what_ he wanted. He wanted Dimitri to stop, he wanted Dimitri to do more, he wanted to understand, he wanted Dimitri to hold him forever, he wanted to run away and hide, he wanted Dimitri to hold him down, he wanted control over his thoughts and feelings again, he _ached_ for Dimitri to do _something, he didn’t know what, he didn’t—_

“Claude?” Finally Dimitri’s eyes shifted from the trail and down to him. Something about the intensity in his stare, something about the way he focused on him… _Gods,_ it was like that wyvern. Dimitri looked _hungry._

 _He wanted_ “Dimitri…?” That same noise echoed again from his chest, his head feeling fluffy and light. He couldn’t seem to form words, only croak. His trapped hand desperately squeezed Dimitri’s stomach, scrambling for purchase and to touch Dimitri and to feel and to— More breathy keens left him as he seemed incapable of anything short of wheezing. His ribs creaked. _‘Squeeze me tighter,’_ he tried to say. _‘Hold me down, I don’t know why but I_ **_want—’_ **

_‘It hurts… stop hurting me… stop, it hurts…’_

“Claude!” The pressure vanished. He sucked in greedy breath after greedy breath. “No, oh no, I’m so sorry—”

“‘M fine,” he gasped, spinning and heaving and feeling like he just fell from the back of a wyvern and wasn’t caught in time. The adrenaline from the fall, the post-survival exhilaration, the trembling fear; it was all present. “Heh… got a little… tight there…” His back was on the ground. Dimitri hovered above him, guilt and worry warring for dominance. Those gloved hands were close but not touching him. He reached out and grabbed one. Dimitri flinched. “Hehe, _whoo._ That was a rush. That’s gotta be the most enthusiastic hug I’ve gotten, hoo, ever.”

Dimitri passed a fearful glance to their joined hands, not daring to clutch Claude back. “I nearly suffocated you.”

 _Oh shit. He almost did._ He swallowed whatever noise was trying to escape him. _‘That sounds great.’_ “But you didn’t, so no worries. You would’ve noticed if I passed out.” Dimitri didn’t look very convinced, and unfortunately Claude’s brain was still coming down from his high on oxygen deprivation. Given the fate of his currently not-so-silver tongue, he gave up on verbally reassuring Dimitri. He tugged on Dimitri’s hand instead. “Pst… come closer…” he whispered.

Dimitri didn’t seem to know how to respond. He limply allowed Claude to tug him a little closer, but not close enough. “What are you…?”

“Closer,” he whispered even quieter. “I need to… tell you something… come closer…”

Dimitri’s Adam's apple bobbed. He followed Claude’s request, biting his lip as he leaned over Claude.

 _“Hi.”_ Enacting his plan, Claude retook his proper place wrapped around Dimitri. He latched his legs together around Dimitri’s waist, throwing his arms over the prince’s shoulders. Despite still being somewhat out of breath it was childsplay to pull himself off the ground and cling to Dimitri. 

Dimitri froze, still hovering over the spot Claude had been. “…Uhh?” 

Claude held his snickers to himself. “I’m just _so_ out of breath! You’ll carry me back, _won’t you?”_ He channeled his inner-Hilda and pouted, tilting his head and batting his eyelashes. Dimitri made another confused and uninterpretable noise. Claude took it as an improvement. Not only was Dimitri’s guilt gone (for now at least), he was hilariously flustered. “What’s wrong? You were already carrying me.” He continued to channel his inner-Hilda and made sure to sound whiny. “Pleeeease?” He tilted his head to nuzzle his shoulders, maintaining his overly-sad eye contact.

“Wh…what are you doing…?”

His pout curled into a grin. “Convincing you to keep carrying me.”

“I hurt you. I’m bound to hurt you again.” Slowly Dimitri eased into a sitting position, allowing Claude to ease his grip a little and sit on his lap.

“Nah.”

“I did! And I will!”

“Mmm… nah.” He shifted to nuzzle against Dimitri’s warm cheek to prove he held no hard feelings. “That was nothing. I’ve been sat on by a huge wyvern. Gotta say, I _much_ prefer your enthusiastic hugs. Besides, aren’t we ‘late’ for something?”

Dimitri croaked. “Please, Claude. I can’t afford to hurt you.” He gave Claude a devastated look. “You know I have no finesse, no restraint. I could never forgive myself…”

“You’re gentle all the time. You just got a bit distracted, that’s all. I’m not hurt.” Though his ribs and hip might be a little bruised. He continued to nuzzle against him, doing his best to comfort the blond.

Dimitri’s shoulders slumped, his head hanging against Claude. “You are too forgiving, my dear friend.” He shivered at _‘dear friend.’_ No one had ever called him a dear friend before. And Dimitri _meant_ it. “I’ll carry you back, under one condition. Promise me you will let me know if I hold you too tight.”

He finished by pressing his forehead against Dimitri. “I can promise you that,” he whispered, hardly an inch between their eyes. He’d need to figure out some method to get Dimitri to squeeze him again (though not _quite_ that tight) in the future. But for now Dimitri needed this, so Claude agreed.

They’d barely been walking for a minute when they were interrupted.

“Hey, Prince Dimitri!” a familiar voice yelled, causing them both to flinch. “There you are! Where’s Cla…ude.” 

“Hilda? Why are you here?” He pulled back a little from Dimitri, his usual smile effortlessly falling back into place. “It’s not like you to take the effort to go on a forest stroll.”

“H-hello, Hilda!” Dimitri stuttered. One arm (loosely) held him steady, not that he _needed_ Dimitri to hold him up. He’d clung to bigger things than Dimitri plenty. But he _did_ like being held up.

“Sorry to interrupt!” she snickered. “It’s just that you two were gone for so long. The professor sent me to get you.”

“Our apologies,” Dimitri said for them both. “We lost track of time.”

“Oh, no worries! I totally get it.” She winked. “Did you two have _fun?”_

He narrowed his eyes at her. “Sure we did. What’s _that_ look for?”

“Oh, nothing! Wow Claude, you sure are clinging to the Prince of Faerghus like a leech.”

He smirked. “Oh-ho, is that jealousy I hear?” He snuggled up _real_ snug to Dimitri, nuzzling into his hair. “You _wish_ you had someone to carry you around like I do.”

“U-uhm, C-Claude…”

Hilda rolled her eyes, then turned her back on them and started walking.

Just before they reached the gate, Dimitri set his feet back on the ground. “I hope I didn’t ruin your birthday,” Dimitri murmured, his head bowed.

He punched Dimitri’s shoulder. “Of course not! Seriously, thank you. I had a great time, enthusiastic hug included.”

Dimitri shared a weak smile. “I’m glad. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” _Aw, damn._ That meant Dimitri wouldn’t want to snuggle at night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: Teach, I thought we had something special! You betrayed me!  
> Byleth: All I did was announce your birthday  
> Claude: YEah! That! And no tea time???? D: 
> 
> Dimitri: We’re no strangers to love  
> Claude: We definitely are  
> Dimitri: You know the rules, and so do I  
> Claude: no I DON’T know the rules, fuck you  
> Dimitri: A full commitment’s what I’m thinking of  
> Claude: umm commitment scares me soooo…  
> Dimitri: Never gonna give you up. Never gonna let you down.  
> Claude: This is going to get awkward real quick if you never let me down (but im not going to complain...)
> 
> Claude: *Is oblivious nerd*  
> Dimitri: CLAUDE I LOVE YOU  
> Claude: Thanks *finger bow and arrow* Now about these rocks...  
> Dimitri: he's perfect
> 
> Dimitri: *is stronk*  
> Claude: Uh this has awoken something in me and i dont know what to do about it, but it's VERY awoken
> 
> Golden Deer? More like Claude and the Mystery Gang (ft Dimitri). I didn't plan on this fic being a world-building one, but Claude keeps snooping /shrug
> 
> I should... probably add the slow burn tag to this fic, huh. Fun fact: the kiss scene between these dorks was the sixth chapter I wrote for this fic. But I don't write this fic in order, and that scene was set in winter. I wrote this back when I didn't expect this fic to pass 50k words lol, and now I'm at a lot more than that. Recently I went back and rewrote that scene entirely because there's been too much tension and development between the two of them lol, and at this point I gotta be real: they ain't gonna last all the way to winter. I'm glad I rewrote it though, because the original scene was pretty bland. They WILL kiss! I can promise that! (Claude, poor buddy, just isn't ready yet :c ) 
> 
> I have no idea how to explain Backgammon as a concept. I spent half an hour playing a free version for research lol, it's fun! Playing it I was hit with mind blowing inspiration about *gasp* it's a perfect metaphor for Claude! And then... I had no idea how to articulate that without explaining the rules of backgammon which can only be boring and difficult. 
> 
> Next chapter: Hilda teasing. Birthday traditions, both good and bad! Cultural differences! Panic!


	18. Maybe the real poison was the friends we made along the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The good, the bad, and the paranoid meltdown

As soon as Dimitri was out of eyeshot, Hilda elbowed him in the ribs. “Sounds like the birthday boy had some  _ fun  _ necking in the woods. I  _ guess _ your tardiness deserves a pass this one time. About time!”

_ Necking. _ Was she referring to the way he rested his head against Dimitri’s neck? He winked. “You know me, I’m very distracting.”

“Ew. You two are disgustingly sappy, I hope you know that. Did you two spend the entire time making out?”

_ Making out? _ Wasn’t that kissing? Or was he misremembering that? “We spent most of it playing a game.”

“A  _ game _ you say. The  _ fun _ kind of  _ game?” _ Hilda bounced her eyebrows. “I’m so proud of you. All grown up. You finally got your man.” She squished his cheeks together.

He stared at her until she let go of his face. “I don’t think we’re reading the same book here. Dimitri got this unique board game for me and we spent the afternoon figuring out how to play it.”

She paused, glee dampening. “Sometimes I forget you’re a complete nerd deep down. Somehow. Did you at least get…  _ prizes… _ out of Dimitri?”

“No…?”

Her smirk vanished, replaced by a frown he was unfortunately familiar with from her. “You  _ did _ kiss him, right?”

He jolted. “What? No! What gave you that idea?”

She stared at him.

“He called me a ‘dear friend’…?”

_ “Hopeless,” _ she hissed into her hands. “What were you two  _ doing _ when I stumbled onto you if not kissing?!”   


He shrugged. “It’s a long story. I made him laugh too hard, he dropped me and felt bad, so I was reassuring him.” Not  _ too _ far from the truth. Now was not the time to try and untangle his odd reaction to being squeezed, especially not in front of Hilda.

“How was  _ that _ reassuring him…? You know what, nevermind. You’re late enough already.”

“Late to what?” He stepped into the dining hall with her.

**_“Happy birthday Claude!”_ **

Every muscle in his body tensed as he reflexively smiled. When nothing exploded or crashed into him, he forced himself to unlock his jaw. He threw together a hearty laugh that doubled as a tense exhale.  _ Fool. _ He was an utter fool. Being with Dimitri left him too lax. He needed to be on guard today.

He eyed his classmates and the table of food. “What’s all this? For me?”  _ Dammit. _ He didn’t have anything prepared for an impromptu birthday celebration.

Hilda smacked his back, shoving him forward. “You know any  _ other _ Claude who’s birthday it is today?”

The gathering was for him.  _ Why? _ Were they hoping to gain his favor as the future Duke Riegan? Aside from  _ maybe _ Lorenz, it seemed a farfetched motivation for his classmates. They  _ had _ to be trying to curry his favor for something. What was their agenda? Not knowing made it difficult to enjoy himself. Not that he  _ ever _ enjoyed himself on such a dangerous day. Props to Dimitri for getting him to forget for a few hours. He slipped easily into his familiar role: smiling, laughing, joking, watching, waiting, and thanking the generosity of his classmates.  _ Hell. _ How was he going to repay this? 

He was well practiced with birthday celebrations. It was different from the large and faceless crowd of the palace but keeping everyone lively and happy was easy. It helped that there was a feast in front of everyone. Only dining hall food, but food was food. He acted the surprised but grateful fool. He didn’t eat from any untouched dish. He didn’t drink from any untouched pitcher. 

At least he had Butter and Renart. Marianne apparently lured them into the dining hall just for him, so that was nice. Butter played guard dog at his feet while Renart claimed his lap as a throne. He wished he had Vish.

“Here.” Teach placed a cup of steaming tea beside his plate. “I hope this is sufficient.”

_ Almyran pine. _ Just what he was craving. Not that he could afford to drink from it. Anything could be in the tea. “Here you let me think you didn’t care. Good to see proof that I’m still your favorite student.”

“I have no favorite.”

“Hah! Right, sure. And you throw feasts for the rest of your students?”

They shook their head. “Your classmates organized this. I merely helped.”

“Really? They pulled all this off on such short notice?”

“They’re resourceful.”

“You told Dimitri, but not anyone else. Why?”

“I enjoy watching you squirm.” They paused. “That was a joke. Hah. Hah.”

“Hah. Convincing.”

“Your classmates work best under pressure. And it is also funny watching them squirm. Hah. Hah.”

That got a real snort out of him. “You’ve got the oddest sense of humor. I like it — when I’m not suffering from it, at least.”

“It’s a surprise party. It wouldn’t be a surprise if the planners weren’t surprised too.”

“I don’t think that’s how that works, Teach… but admittedly I don’t know much about surprise parties, so what do I know.”

Behind the looming shade of  _ waiting, waiting, waiting, _ he found himself somewhat enjoying the little feast. For every laugh he faked he found a few real ones slipping in. The old familiar stress of keeping his guard steady prevented him from having a great time, but he would go as far to say he had a  _ good _ time. Not many of his birthdays could claim that.

Just when he assumed the party was almost over he was proven wrong. 

“Open mine first!” Hilda shoved a bright yellow wrapped box into his arms.

His stomach dropped. He forced a light, amused tone of voice. “You got me a gift?”

“No, I just want you to open the package for me.  _ Yes  _ I got you a birthday gift!”

He chuckled. “Wow. You can’t just spring this on a guy…”

“Um,  _ you’re _ the idiot that sprung your birthday on  _ us!” _

Glancing at the boxes his other classmates held, or the hands suspiciously clasped behind their backs, he had to assume they  _ all _ got him gifts. Wiggling Hilda’s gift away from himself, it didn’t explode in his hands. Cautiously wiggling it next to his ear, he didn’t hear any suspicious noises. 

“Stop guessing and open it!”

Renart leaned up to rub against his hand, sniffing the box. He kept a close eye on the fox.  _ No adverse reaction, _ good. A fox nose was much better at sniffing out dangerous smells than his own. “I’m just making sure you didn’t stick a wasp nest in here or something.” 

Hilda didn’t laugh like he expected (despite the fact that he was entirely serious). A few of his classmates did, but not Hilda. “If you think your bestie would do that to you, you need to read up on our bestie code. And  _ no, _ sorry Claude, no poisonous snakes either.”

He shrugged. “Given how pissed you were earlier and the time crunch, I’m not ruling it out.” He carefully peeled back the wrapping paper, alert for any suspicious powder or odor. He slowly opened the box, prepared to dodge anything that might fly out of it. Like a spring-and-dagger trap. Those were a staple of his birthday. When nothing bit him or exploded, he peeked into the box. 

“I think you gave me the wrong gift.” He pulled out one of the bows. “I know I’m an archer and all, but I can’t use this kind of bow.” He wiggled the pink silk bow at her. It was the sort of thing a little girl might put into her hair. Inside the box were other colors too: yellows, greens, blues, whites, and a  _ lot _ of pinks. Bows of all different styles, ribbons, all sorts of girly accessories.

“Maybe you would’ve gotten a better gift if you gave me more warning.” She winked. “They’re for your  _ daughter.” _

“For Noodle? She’s a wyvern, she doesn’t need these.”

Hilda patted his cheek. “Oh Claude. Trust me, she’ll love them.” She leaned in to whisper into his ear. “Your  _ co-parent _ will love them too.” She winked.  _ “Aaaand, _ there’s something else!” Hilda pulled a metal trinket out of the box. It was an earring. A little deer face dangled on the end with two tiny green gems for eyes. 

“Well I’m impressed! Thanks for the gift.” He doubted he would wear the earring often, as his current one was sentimental, but he appreciated the thought. Providing it wasn’t coated in poison or made of poisonous metal. How did Hilda put his gift together in one afternoon? “You’ve outdone yourself. Not sure what I can get you to match such a generous gift. I owe you.”

Hilda gave him a funny look. “Yeesh, you don’t owe me for a birthday gift. That  _ said, _ when my birthday rolls around, I expect the  _ best _ gift from you.”

“Of course!” Was he expected to get something for her on  _ her  _ birthday? He closely eyed her as she made way for someone else to pass him a box.  _ She didn’t expect him to give her something in return? _ Were people not expected to be generous on their birthdays in Fódlan? Back home he received and gave gifts equally. Not giving something in return, even if only as a token, was a huge insult. Granted, for a despised prince like himself it was all a fake show. He typically had a basket of identical and pointless tokens to give away. He hadn’t prepared to give anything away this year though.

“Alright, now open mine next!”

One by one his classmates piled gifts onto him. It was weird getting so many gifts. Back in Almyra he got plenty of things, but aside from gifts from his parents and Nader they were never tailored to  _ him. _ At best he was given token trinkets because the prince needed to be given  _ something.  _ At worst he was given pretty little deathtraps, especially from his half-brothers. Though the third-to-worst gift he ever got from them had to be the time they  _ actually _ gave him a nice thoughtful gift, no deadly strings attached. He nearly drove himself mad waiting for the stupid toy to kill him.

Perhaps it was a faux paux in Fódlan  _ not  _ to give him a gift. Were they socially obligated to get him something due to him being class head? That was sort of like being their leader on a small scale. He was the closest thing Leicester had to a prince, after all. Was that why his classmates had been so upset at him hiding his birthday?

But then, why did Dimitri get him something? Dimitri was his equal. If it had to do with standing, why was he expected to get something for Hilda on her birthday? She was lower than him on the noble hierarchy. Edelgard didn’t get him anything, so it couldn’t have to do with standing. The only two reasons he could think of to get him a gift was either family obligation or social obligation. Obviously this wasn’t a family matter, but it wasn’t lining up with a social one either.

Who was he expected to return a gift to? Was he expected to give a gift to everyone that gave him something today on  _ their _ birthday? Did he need to keep track of everyone that gave him a gift, then? In Almyra, if he wanted to get a thoughtful birthday gift for someone, he prepared to give that gift out on  _ his _ birthday, not theirs. He received a gift and then gave one in return. A nice and simple system. Not that he ever did that anyways, he never had anyone he cared to give a thoughtful gift to. The only people he was  _ obligated  _ to give a gift to on their birthday was his parents.

Was that the difference? Were the gifts because he was friendly with everyone? No, that couldn’t be it either — Lorenz would gouge out his eyes before he ever called  _ Claude _ of all people his friend.

_ Great. _ Now he needed to figure out gift and birthday etiquette on top of everything else. It never occurred to him that birthdays would be so different here than back in Almyra. Apparently his grandfather and tutors never thought about it either, because unlike with table manners and other useless nonsense, he received no coaching on what to do in this scenario. This was why he preferred to give gifts out on a whim. No social pressure or complicated traditions he needed to dance through if he just plopped a gift on someone ‘because he wanted to.’

He received no thoughtless trinkets this year. From Raphael he received a jar of spices and a homemade cat toy. From Lorenz he received a book on noble table etiquette (that probably wouldn’t be half as useful as Lorenz hoped) and a satchel of Leicester Cortania tea leaves. From Marianne he received a satchel of wyvern treats and a book on birdsong. From Leonie he received a restored pegasus saddle good as new (if not better) and a dopey little handsewn white-wyvern plushie that he pretended he didn’t love. From Flayn he received a collection of 1st edition fairy tales and children’s stories, some of which dated before the War of Heroes. From Ignatz he received a framed painting of Noodle peacefully dozing on a desk that he also pretended he didn’t adore. From Cyril he received a bag of cat food. From Lysithea he received a box of sweets and a new quill. And finally, from Teach he received a lint roller. 

The gifts were all so personal. When had he allowed his classmates to come to know him so well? The gifts took up the table in front of him. He looked between them all trying to find the weak link. Was the pegasus saddle sabotaged? Were the spices or tea leaves poisoned? Was there a dagger hidden in the plushie? A curse hidden in the cover of one of the books? Arsenic laced in Ignatz’s painting?

Was it possible none of them were sabotaged? _ It was possible they were all sabotaged. _

“Thanks for the gifts, everyone! I’ll be sure to put everything to good use. Might need to take a few trips to get all this to my room.” Was  _ that _ the trick? A way to sneak someone into his room? He stood and gave a half-mocking bow. “This has been a very nice surprise of a birthday.”

Raphael slapped his back. “Don’t worry about that, we’ve got you covered! Sit back down pal.”

His stomach lurched as Raphael guided him back down. What was  _ left? _ His gifts were moved off the table and cake was brought out. 

_ ‘Why is the cake on fire?’ _ he wanted to ask. He didn’t say anything though. No one acted confused by the fire and candles in the middle of his cake.  _ Eighteen candles. _ He assumed they represented one year of life. That made sense. Except that they were  _ on fire. _

The cake was placed in front of him. He could smell the sugar. Judging by Lysithea’s proud preening and the wonky but recognizable deer-shaped cake, he assumed she made it. Which meant a single bite was enough to induce cavities, knowing her. 

He barely suppressed a flinch as everyone started  _ singing. _ The cheery little song didn’t last long, but it extended for ages to him. Was he supposed to sing too? No, they were singing  _ to _ him, so likely not. Was he supposed to be doing something during this stupid ritual? Sitting in his seat, smile plastered on his face, he felt like a dunce. This was  _ way _ too personal. Sure, people gave him ‘well-wishings’ back in Almyra, but they weren’t serious about it. This campy little song just oozed with heart and  _ sap. _ If it weren’t for Renart butting into his stomach and Butter rubbing against his leg, he might have gone mad.

_ Finally _ the damned song ended. Except, now everyone watched him with baited breath. Clearly it was his turn to do something. 

“Well? Have you made your wish yet? Blow out the candles already! There is cake to be eaten!”

“Blow out the candles?!” Cyril voiced Claude’s thoughts. “But that’s bad! If ya blow out a candle on your birthday, it shortens your life!”

“What? Is that an Almyran thing?”

Cyril hunched his shoulders. “I guess so? Thought everyone knew that…”

Claude flashed the boy a grin. “An interesting superstition. We don’t have anything like that around here.”  _ He assumed. _ No one corrected him. Unfortunately, he needed to blow out some candles now.

_ Just a superstition. _ Typically he didn’t care much to buy into superstition, but this was one he tried to follow. Extinguishing a flame on the anniversary of one’s own fire beginning supposedly weakened one’s internal flames. Or something. His half-brothers had a tradition of tricking him into extinguishing fires on his birthday. It was probably just coincidence, but the birthdays they succeeded always ended up the worst.

Eighteen candles. One burning flame for each year of his life. Flames he was expected to snuff out. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he sucked in a breath. His whole body tensed as half the candles were extinguished.  _ Nine _ whole candles. He swallowed thickly and blew out the rest.  _ Eighteen. _

The last candle sputtered back to life. After a quick glance to his classmates, it was clear he was expected to blow out the last one. So he did. It went out before again flickering back to life. 

Hilda snerked. “Tough luck. Hope you didn’t wish for anything too important.”

_ Wish? _ He didn’t wish for anything, except maybe for this day to be  _ done _ already. “Now I feel bad for the flame. Hah, just give me that piece. The fire deserves to burn a little longer for surviving three attempts from me.” He winked for added effect.

Lysithea followed his request with a roll of her eyes. “Here you go, birthday boy. One slice of delicious cake with your pity-candle.”

“That’s birthday  _ man _ to you, little girl.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Just when he thought it was over, again expectant eyes turned to him.  _ ‘What now?!’ _ he wanted to shout. Everyone had a slice in front of them (though Lysithea’s piece was better classified as a corner). He glanced down at his cake and the little candle he stuck off to the side. Was he supposed to say something…? Give a thank-you speech, maybe? Seemed strange to do it now instead of at the start of the meal.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you all for this surprise party and for the gifts. What can I say? I’m proud of our house, as  _ clearly _ the Golden Deer throw the best parties. I’ve had a great many birthdays — eighteen of them now, what a shocker — but this might very well be the best I’ve had. So cheers to me and my survival for another year, and cheers to all of us!” He lifted his goblet.

He was greeted with a replying cheer as everyone else raised their goblets too. “If this is the best party you’ve had, that’s a little sad,” Hilda snickered at him. “Just you wait until next year.  _ That _ will be a party to remember! Now that we’ll have  _ time _ to plan it.”

“Nice speech, whoo-hoo, eat your stupid cake already Claude!” Lysithea vibrated in her seat.

“The cake’s stupid now? Didn’t think you had it in you to insult your precious cake.” He waved a hand. “Go ahead. Don’t let me stop you from digging in.”

There was a beat of silence. Leonie cleared her throat. “Birthday boy always has the first bite.”

_ Ah. Here it was. _ Was that a  _ real _ tradition or were they just messing with him? What did they put in the cake? Surely they wouldn’t poison him in such an obvious manner. Maybe they were pranking him instead. Replaced the sugar for salt, maybe? No, smelled too sweet. Cooked needles into the cake? He never ate the first bite of a shared meal, never took the first sip of a shared drink. He wasn’t  _ stupid. _

“Sure, sure.” He smiled, twirling his spoon in his hands like he might an arrow. On ‘accident’ it flew out of his hand and clattered on the floor. He stared at the dropped spoon like it betrayed him despite the opposite being true.

Lysithea nearly exploded. 

“Just eat some cake already, I don’t mind.”

“I got you covered!’ Raphael chucked his spoon across the table, by some miracle not missing. The spoon actually landed in the cake slice, handle up. As the Deer exploded with cheer, Claude took the distraction to feign taking a bite, pushing the tip of the cake underneath itself so as to seem to be missing a chunk. Shoving his empty spoon into his mouth, he took a fake chew.

_ Finally _ the others took this as a signal to eat. His shoulders unclenched. So the cake probably wasn’t poisoned after all. He braved a  _ real _ bite this time and struggled not to blanch at the overly sweet monstrosity. He wasn’t expected to eat the whole thing, right? There was no way he was going to eat that entire thing. To hell with customs and Lysithea’s feelings, it was way too much sugar.

_ “Well?” _ Lysithea demanded through a mouthful of cake. “How is it?”

He smoothed a smile and took another teeth-rotting bite. “It sure is sweet.”

Lysithea interpreted that as a complement. 

He was trying to judge how much offense the pint-sized mage would take if he pawned the rest of his cake on Hilda when Ignatz directed a question at him. “Did your grandfather send you anything?”  _ Personal questions. _ Just as bad as the overly sweet cake.

He shrugged. “If he did, I haven’t gotten it yet. He’s old, I’m not expecting anything.”

“What?! That’s awful!” Raphael shouted.

“It’s not a big deal. He’d probably just sent me old person stuff. Hard candies or weird soaps or something.” He was certain his grandfather sent him nothing. The only instance in Fódlan he disclosed his birthday at all was when he enrolled at the officer’s academy (in hindsight, that must be how Teach found him out). 

“Hmph. I would think the venerated Duke Riegan isn’t so senile as to forget his grandson’s birthday. Or are you saying he isn’t fit…?” 

“Politics Lorenz? Really? My grandfather’s still sharp as a dagger, trust me. He sure likes to keep me on my toes, it’d be much easier if he was senile.” Plus the old man couldn’t forget what he didn’t know.

“Come to think of it, did you even celebrate your birthday last year?” Hilda tilted her head, eyeing him too sharply. “I know we barely knew each other back then, but I can’t  _ believe _ I wasn’t invited!”

Lorenz scoffed. “And to exclude Gloucester as well? Not a good appearance, Claude. Such a situation is prime opportunity to—”

“I wasn’t even confirmed as heir yet. There was no  _ secret _ party or whatever conspiracy you’re dreaming up.”

“What’d you do for your birthday, then?”

_ Nothing. _ Best birthday ever. Getting yelled at by his tutors hadn’t been fun, but it was  _ normal. _ “Just a small private celebration. Nothing fancy.” Birthday celebrations were a huge deal in Almyra. From prince to peasant, birthdays were important. Which meant Claude could never escape his. It was nice to finally get away from it for a year. Too bad it wasn’t a tradition he could maintain.

“Can’t believe you didn’t throw a party! You love feasts!” Raphael paused. “This year and last.”

“It’s doubtful he  _ knew _ anyone last year to even invite,” Lorenz tutted.

Leonie elbowed Lorenz. “Oh hush! There’s nothing wrong with having a small birthday with family! It’s well and good to celebrate, but you nobles always go too far. Out of friends, family, and good food, you only need two of those to have a party! Fancy expensive stuff doesn’t matter. Back me up Claude!”

He nodded with her. “It’s about the company, not the amount of gold spent.” Specifically, company that was less likely to kill him.

Hilda raised an eyebrow. “Is your grandfather good birthday company? Sounds boring.”

“Nah, I didn’t spend my last birthday with him. He’s an old man, that’d be sad. I spent it with a friend.”

“A friend? Who?” Hilda leaned over to stuff herself in his face.

He winked, sliding the rest of his cake onto her plate while no one was looking. “Why, a very old and dear friend of mine. You’ve met her. She’s not very talkative, but she—”

“You’re talking about your stupid snake, aren’t you.”

“Bold of you to call a venomous and cunning gal like Vish stupid.”

Hilda just glared at him.

* * *

  
  


To Claude’s  _ absolute _ lack of shock, he couldn’t sleep. He was waiting for his birthday surprise to attack him. He checked over the pile of gifts a dozen times already and so far nothing changed. He kept peering out his window, finding nothing. Every creak of the building had him listening for footsteps.

Vish was curled around his ankle, extra vigilant. Renart was eager to make biscuits on his chest when he laid down. Birds kept trickling into his room. Star purred up a storm, twining around his legs in her diligent attempts to trip him as he paced. Sun perched on his shoulder. Moon kept watch on the windowsill as birds came and went (but mostly came) through the cracked window. Cracked enough for  _ birds, _ not enough for a person. He trapped it to spring an alarm and a knife if anything bigger tried to force the window open. Noodle slept around his neck and was doing her best despite being sick.

The floor creaked. Wind blew. The trees rustled. Another bird flew in. Did he have enough to protect himself if someone came in? His eyes flickered between the door and the window, searching the shadows. 

No sleep for him. 

Vish nipped his leg. Not enough to make him bleed, just enough to remind him that she was with him. He’d be a wreck without her.

He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t read, not when he needed to stay vigilant. All he could do was pace and listen and wait. He went over his plan for an assassin climbing into his window, his plan for if two or three or four or more entered his window, his plan for if they used knives or swords or bows to snipe him. His plan for if someone picked the lock on his door or if they forced the door down. His plan for if the walls or ceiling or floor were compromised and failed him, allowing danger to slip in or if his room might collapse around him. His plan for bombs or fire or poisonous gas. His plans if he needed to run, if he needed to hide, if he needed to escape. He reviewed every option and planned more, because anything could be his end, anything could get him by skill or dumb luck. He couldn’t afford to be overconfident. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down — not now, not ever.

And what if his classmates turned on him? Or the monastery as a whole? What if they learned his secret? Raphael, Ignatz, and Marianne might not immediately turn on him. Teach would help him, providing he didn’t gain a giant bounty on his head. Cyril was iffy with his devotion to Rhea and his disdain for Claude’s father. Lysithea and Leonie could go either way. It just depended. Hilda and Lorenz, he wouldn’t hold his breath. He might be able to wring some temporary aid from Edelgard if he played his cards right, but that was risky, only an absolute last resort. 

Dimitri would help him. Dimitri might feel hurt and betrayed, but he wouldn’t turn Claude in.

These were just  _ what-ifs. _ Renart whined at him to come back to the bed. Noodle fitfully snored. Two birds perched themselves on his free shoulder. Star almost tripped him again.

Vish was calm. She was used to this from him. She  _ came _ from one of his birthday surprises, after all. Vish and Ama guarded him through so many birthdays. 

He settled back on the bed. He fiddled with his new backgammon board on his lap (on top of Renart who claimed his lap first). The shimmering eagle was nice. He wanted the real thing. He hefted the board. It  _ should _ be heavy enough to make a decent projectile if necessary. 

_ Golden eagle. Onyx wyvern. _ His half-brothers all had royal onyx wyverns. He was supposed to have one too. Every prince was supposed to have one. Only royalty were allowed to ride onyx wyverns. That particular birthday gift had been sabotaged too. The story he told Dimitri was a child-friendly version of the unification between east and west Almyra hundreds of years ago. It was tradition for royalty to have onyx wyverns ever since.

His eyes darted to the window.  _ Nothing. _ Still nothing. 

_ Hah. _ A gold deer. He was supposed to be the ebon-spotted leopard, not the deer.  _ From the east, rising with the sun, came the gold deer and golden eagles, settling in the west. From the west, the ebon leopards and onyx wyverns traveled with the setting sun, claiming the east. The deer and leopard wed, uniting day and night, east and west, Almyra and Almyra.  _

He closed the board again, white-knuckling the wood. He was a deer alright.  _ Prey. Afraid.  _ The Gold Deer left the land of the Sun to live in the land of the Moon. The Gold Deer took up Ebon Leopard’s home in the mountains. And Ebon Leopard became the crown ruler. A prince was  _ supposed _ to be a leopard, a strong guardian predator with a loyal wyvern as their trusted shadow. A prince was  _ supposed _ to be a leopard: chosen to rule by merit, not merely birth. No one in Almyra accepted a new ruler merely on the basis of their birth. Almyra and Fódlan were very different in that regard.

_ The window. Nothing. _

Ama was better than an onyx wyvern egg anyways. And he had Noodle now. Granted, a royal received his or her wyvern egg at age ten. He was a little less than eight years behind with Noodle. But that was fine. Ama chose  _ him. _ That meant something. It was important. He wasn’t just  _ handed _ an egg like his half-brothers. He didn’t care that people took her as a bad omen. He’d been swimming in bad omens from birth. If one of his half-brothers had been chosen by Ama instead, no doubt the public would swoon over the sacred bird. So what if they labeled him as weak because of it? He was used to it.

No one was allowed to hunt a gold deer but that didn’t stop anyone from hunting  _ him. Hah. _ The parallels of that stupid story never ended. He loved the story as a child. Despite his occasional bittersweet dwellings, he still did. He still clung to the possibility that fate might allow him to make the story come true once more.  _ Day and night, east and west, human and human. No us and them, no inside or outside. _

He jumped to his feet, sick of sitting. Renart yelped at him but he didn’t care. If he was thinking in animal metaphors again, he needed to refocus. He couldn’t allow his attention to slip. He set the wooden box on his desk, carefully, not allowing it to make a single sound. He checked the window again. Did the tree’s shape change? He stared. No, no, just another bird.

He jumped, dagger in hand, as a noise brushed right next to his ear. He stabbed behind himself into thin air. He stumbled backwards, kicking a book, focusing on the darkness.

The sound came again.  _ Noodle’s snore. _ She was a little congested.

He didn’t dare make a sound. He watched the unchanging dark corners of his room, his window, the crack under his door. Sun headbutted him. A crow hopped in front of him, then onto his shoulder. He had to give the birds credit for learning to telegraph their movements before touching him. 

He patted Noodle.  _ Nothing. Nothing yet. _

What if Cyril figured him out? Cyril would make a fortune if he sold Claude out. No, the boy would likely inform Rhea. What then? The church preached people like himself to be aberrations unloved by their goddess. His existence was one thing, but acting as a crested noble? Rhea might execute him herself.

Or maybe Hilda would figure it out. She was sharp despite what she pretended. She  _ knew _ he wasn’t native. One slip from him around her and it would all crumble around him. She might not be like her brother or father, but she was still a Goneril. And he was an Almyran ‘invader.’

What of Lorenz? He stared at the wall that separated him from the noble. Lorenz  _ must _ be feeding his father information. Lorenz caught him in ignorance too many times already. Lorenz held no love for him. No doubt wanted to get him out of the way. Even if Lorenz  _ wasn’t _ conspiring with his father, what was stopping Count Gloucester from doing to Claude what he did to Godfrey?

None of those were his primary fear though. What he feared most was his half-brothers. None of them would be content letting him live. They no doubt assumed (correctly) that he fled to Fódlan. He covered his tracks as well as possible, but it wouldn’t take much for them to find him. They didn’t know the name  _ Claude _ or even  _ Riegan.  _ That wouldn’t stop them. 

A scraping noise came from the other side of his door. He flinched before recognizing it was familiar. A quiet whine followed.  _ Butter. _ He crept to the door, mind flying as fast as a wyvern. It was just Butter. But what if something else lurked in the hallway? What if this was someone’s plan? What if—?   


He opened the door. A dark figure loomed above Butter.

He jumped to the side, dagger back in his hand. He refused to die. He’d made it this far. He wasn’t going to die here, not now, not like this. 

He flung the dagger just as Butter bowled into him, knocking him over. He stumbled to his knees and scrambled back. He dug through his jacket for another dagger. His other hand pushed at Butter.  _ Someone _ was at the door and Butter was going to get him killed!

“Claude?”

He dropped his second dagger. Fear of a different kind washed through him.  _ “Dimitri.” _ He pushed himself up and towards the open door. “Get in here. It’s just you? Stop standing there.”

Dimitri crossed the threshold of Claude’s door far too slow. As soon as he could, Claude clicked his door shut and bolted it locked. He glanced out the window again, peering around his room to double check nothing else crept in. After he was as certain as he could be, he turned his focus fully to Dimitri.

“Where did I hit you? Yeesh, you really know how to spook a fella! Do you loom ominously like that all nights? Dimitri, the wound, where did my dagger hit?” He didn’t dare speak above a whisper.

A heavy hand pressed over his frantic ones. “Peace. I’m fine.”

He didn’t stop. “Did it nick you?  _ At all? _ That dagger was poisoned, you  _ need _ to tell me.” Vish’s poison was very deadly, but he had antidotes. Despite that, it wouldn’t be a fun upcoming day for Dimitri’s body to work through the poison.

Dimitri pointed. Reluctantly following, he saw his dagger embedded in his wall. “Butter threw off your aim. You didn’t hit me.”

He heaved a sigh. “Here I thought Butter was going to be the death of me.” He  ~~crumpled~~ crouched down to the floor, petting the old dog’s head. “Good boy.” He winced at the glare from Sun, who fell off of him when Butter knocked him over. The birds returned to his shoulder.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.”

“You didn’t knock. You  _ always _ knock. What was I supposed to think?”

Dimitri looked away. “Given that Butter was in my room, I thought you would put together that he could only visit you if I let him out. I apologize for my careless action.”

He waved a hand. “You’re fine, you’re fine. It’s whatever. Thought you wanted to spend the night alone though.”

“Butter was… insistent. He is remarkable at knowing when something is wrong, I’ve found. I was worried about you.” Dimitri looked across his bed. “You haven’t been sleeping, yet I see no books open. And, ah… that’s an alarming amount of birds.” He paused. “Did you sprinkle birdseed in your sheets?”

“No, they’re just being annoying tonight.” He shrugged. Sun and Star both twined his legs, meowing to be picked up. “Shh, you two. I can’t sleep. You know how it is. Too much on my mind.”

“I see.” Dimitri bit his lip. “Would you like some company? Sleep also eludes me.”

Somehow, not even ten minutes later, Dimitri managed to both convince him into bed and to try and  _ sleep. _ Claude pressed his back against the wall, Dimitri between himself and the door. Dimitri made no comment about Claude squeezing himself against the wall. Dimitri’s arms loosely wrapped around him at his prompting. Noodle left his neck to worm herself between them.

He had Vish and he had Dimitri. He had Butter and Noodle and the kittens and Renart and an ever shifting number of birds. He didn’t have Ama, but that was okay. He didn’t  _ need _ her.

If an assassin slipped in, they would have to stab Dimitri before they could get to him. Which wasn’t great. He couldn’t sleep. Dimitri’s back was to the window and door. Claude had to keep watch. 

Dimitri brushed a hand through his hair. It felt nice, but that trick only worked when he felt safe. He squinted at the corner of his room. One of his piles of books looked a lot like a crouched human. A bird fluttered over to it. The book pile didn’t move, so he concluded it was, in fact, only books. He looked back to the window. Moon was alert but not puffed up. If she saw something, she would puff up. Surely. Then again, she was only a kitten. How would she know if something was dangerous? The tree out his window rustled. It was the wind.  _ Probably. _ He should get up and check to be certain. Moon might not be able to tell. But he couldn’t get up, Dimitri was holding him. 

Did he remember to lock his door? Did he bolt it? He needed to check. He forgot to lock it. But getting up would involve telling Dimitri. That required whispering. If someone was outside his window, whispering would alert them that he was awake and dangerous. If they thought him asleep, they would underestimate him. He needed every edge he could get.

“What’s wrong?”

He flinched. “Shh… Not so loud…” He barely dared to breathe.

Dimitri tensed. “What is it?” he whispered this time.

“Forgot to lock the door.”

Dimitri didn’t let up with his hair. “I watched you bolt it. It’s locked.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes Claude. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He turned his eye back to the window. Noodle snored, startling him badly. 

Dimitri shifted to look behind his shoulder. “What do you keep looking at? More birds?”

_ “Nothing.” _

“You’re too tense to sleep. Would you like to go train instead?”

_ And leave his room?! _ No! That was  _ asking _ to be attacked out in the open! Maybe he would rest easier in Dimitri’s room. An assassin wouldn’t expect him to be there. But he and Dimitri were open about their close friendship, an assassin might check Dimitri’s room for him. Besides, that would mean unlocking his door and walking unprotected into the hallway.

“Claude?”

“No I don’t want to train. Why are you asking me so many questions?” What if  _ Dimitri _ was the assassin? What if it was all a long con? 

“You’re acting strangely.” Dimitri snuggled him closer. “I won't let any harm come to you.”

“It’s nothing.” He struggled against Dimitri. Dimitri was trying to block his sight of the window.

“What are you looking at? Who do you see?”

_ Who?  _ **_Who?_ ** He scanned the room again and again. “Who do  _ you _ see?”

“Just you. It’s just you and me. We’re the only two people in this room.” Dimitri knocked their foreheads together. “No one else is here.”

  
  


_ Dimitri won’t let him go. There is an assassin in the room and Dimitri won’t let go of him. He can’t move. Dimitri rolls over and presents him to the assassin. Dimitri is gone. He is trapped in steel, his throat forcibly bared, knife pressed to his neck. _

_ A man with glowing red eyes stands in the corner of his room. Khalid can’t move. If he moves, he’ll die. If he moves, the assassin will know he’s awake. He can’t move. He’s too afraid. _

_ The assassin is creeping closer. The assassin is grinning. The assassin sees him. He blinks, and the assassin is in his face. He tries to scream but he can’t. He must be quiet. The knife is too close to his throat. _

_ “You thought you could escape, princling? Pathetic. The  _ true _ prince of Almyra sends his regard, half-breed.” _

_ He is alone. No Vish or Ama. Just him and the assassin, and he is nothing but a weak boy. He tries to scream. He tries to struggle. He doesn’t want to die. The man wraps cold fingers around his throat and squeezes. He can’t breathe.  _

_ He is underwater. His limbs won’t work right. He can’t find the surface. His herd of sunlight deer watch him struggle. They don’t want him anymore. They forced him away. Now he will drown, alone. _

_ “You’ll always be alone, coward. You’ll never belong anywhere,” his half-brother hisses, face of a leopard. Fangs bite down on his throat. _

Something stabbed his ankle. Something shook him. Something was calling him. He flung himself away, slamming his head against the wall. 

“—uade! Claude!” Dimitri sharply whispered over and over. “It was a nightmare.”

He blinked at Dimitri. Body tense, his eyes darted to the corners of his room.  _ Nothing. _ His window.  _ Nothing. _ His door.  _ Nothing. _ He gasped for breath, slick with sweat. He needed to hide. There were assassins after him. 

Shaking violently he crawled over top of Dimitri and off the bed.  _ Under his bed. _ He forgot to check under his bed. Fear stabbed him as he checked.  _ Nothing. _ Nothing but the outline of Vish’s crate and her heat rock. The rest of the space was empty. Vish was still around his ankle. He was bleeding a little from her wake-up bite. Birds were everywhere. Dagger in hand, he crawled under his bed and shoved himself against the wall. He needed to be silent. He needed to stop shaking. He needed to stop gasping. An assassin might hear him. He refused to die.

The bed above him creaked. He froze.  _ Too big to be an animal. _ Were they here already? How many assassins? He clutched his dagger with a deathgrip.

_ Silent. Silent. Must be silent. Stay hidden. Stay silent. _

“It was a nightmare. You’re safe with me, I swear I will keep you from harm. Would you like any blankets or pillows? I could… light you a candle?”

_ Silent, Dimitri. You must be silent. _

“You don’t need to reply. Is my voice helping? I always find your voice grounding when my nightmares are too much. Would you like a kitten? Ah, I’m going to send you one, okay? You always say they’re good for nightmares…”

He tensed as Dimitri’s hand  _ (it was Dimitri, right?) _ invaded his space. Sun’s shining eyes blinked at him. He didn’t want a kitten. He wanted to hide. He wanted the suspense to be over. He wanted dawn to arrive. Or at least for the damned assassins to attack him already.

Sun turned around and exited his space. “Oh. Sun, please, Claude could use… Oh. Welcome back…? I’m sorry Claude, it seems Sun wants to sleep on the bed. Are you sure you don’t need anything?”

_ “Quiet…” _ he breathed.

“Of course. Apologies.”

He could still hear Dimitri’s faint breathing. Better than drowning in his own heartbeat.

“Would you like me to go?” Dimitri asked, almost silent.

If Dimitri left, that meant opening the door. If Dimitri left, that meant Claude would be alone with only Vish to protect himself. “Stay.”

“I will.”

He didn’t sleep. The night refused to end. From his hiding spot, he couldn’t check the window.  _ Hide. Must stay hidden. _ More than once ambient creaks convinced him he wasn’t alone in the room. He waited endlessly for the assassins to find him. 

“It’s dawn.”

He pressed against the wall.  _ Dimitri. _ It was just Dimitri. He waited until peaks of sunlight were visible to him before trusting that it was dawn. He inched away from the wall. Lifting the blanket hiding his space from the rest of the world, he peeked out. Most of the birds were gone. Carefully, silently, he crawled out. 

There was no birdsong this morning. All was silent.

He survived another birthday. There would be an attempt soon though. He was certain. He couldn’t let down his guard. He wanted to hide the day away. To find somewhere safe and hole up away from everything. But he couldn’t. He had too much to do. He couldn’t let his cowardice drive him.

“Good morning.” He flinched. It wasn’t that he  _ forgot _ Dimitri, he just… he forgot Dimitri. The blond wrung his hands together, eyes fixed on the bed sheets. 

Dimitri witnessed his episode. Shame burned his face. Dimitri witnessed him  _ hide under his bed.  _ “You stayed.” In the back of his mind, he  _ knew _ Dimitri stayed. He would have heard if Dimitri left. 

“Of course. I’m sorry for my ineptitude comforting you.”

“Don’t apologize,” he hissed, shakily pulling himself to his feet.  _ Dammit, _ he was  _ still _ shaken up. He peered out the window.  _ Nothing. _ “If you tell anyone about this…” He swallowed hard. He couldn’t bring himself to speak above a whisper.

“I vow I will not speak of it to anyone.” Dimitri didn’t even hesitate. “You know I wouldn’t. I’m sor… ahem. Can I… do anything for you? Would you like breakfast? I can bring you some. We could train. Or go for a morning stroll. Whatever you want.”

He wrapped his arms around himself, not moving away from the window. “Don’t coddle me like I’m weak. I may be a coward, but I’m a living coward. Better than being brave and dead.”

“You are no coward. If you think having a nightmare makes you weak, then I am far weaker than you. And I know what you say about my strength.” The joke was weak, but it was an attempt.

“Yeah. But you don’t hide under your bed.” There were a handful of birds still in the tree outside. Nowhere close to the usual amount. All were silent.

“I… I’m sorry. I don’t know how to comfort you. You are no coward though.”

“Sure. Whatever you say. Guess we should get ready for class.” He was still whispering. If he was in front of anyone else, he would force himself to speak up. Around Dimitri he couldn’t muster the willpower. He knew it was irrational, but if he spoke above a whisper he would be heard. If he was heard, he would be in danger.

“We have a free day today, as tomorrow is the Rite of Rebirth.”

“Right, I knew that. We should still get ready…” He eyed Noodle. She was curled up with Sun, Star, and Butter. Moon was still curled up on the windowsill. Noodle was awake staring off into space slightly to his left. It was odd that she wasn’t trying to tackle him, but he was grateful. With any luck she was just tired and not getting sicker. She didn’t even seem to register him.

“Oh. Claude, how about a hug? Would a hug help you now?”

He bowed his head. He wanted to leave the monastery and curl up with some animals. The animals wouldn’t judge him for his weakness. None of the students were allowed to leave the monastery grounds until after the ‘assassination attempt on the archbishop’. Sneaking out was just tempting fate to bring the worst kind of suspicion onto himself at the worst possible time. More than anything he wanted to hide and stop existing for a bit. He wanted to crawl back under the bed and never leave.

“Can I touch you?”

Dimitri hovered.  _ Say no. Tell him no. You don’t need it. You don’t need anyone but yourself.  _ “Okay.”

Dimitri embraced him. “I should have offered this earlier, forgive me. Can I pick you up?”

“Fine.”

Dimitri did so. He was brought to the bed. Dimitri didn’t obscure his sight of the window. “You look like a bird longing to fly.” A gloved hand stroked through his hair.

“I do. Long to be back in the sky, that is.” Better for Dimitri to assume that than the truth that he was watching for danger. Besides, he wasn’t lying. The sky was safe. If only he flew high enough, no arrow could touch him. No weapon or word could hurt him in the sky. Maybe he could try to sneak Sugarcube out of her stall again. The stablemaster always caught him, but flying was his best post-nightmare cool-down. He wished he could ride a wyvern.

“Is this helping?” Dimitri held him with one hand, tousling his hair with the other. 

He tucked his legs into his chest, curling to be as small as possible. He should get up. He needed to shake this off. He needed to prove he wasn’t weak. He needed to be independent. He dealt with this same thing time and time again every year. He needed to get up.

But he couldn’t go flying. He didn’t have Ama. Practicing archery was the last thing he felt like doing. He didn’t even have his parents or Nader. He didn’t even have anything he was expected to do, like go to class or even get out of bed on time. He just wanted to stay hidden. He needed a break. He needed to catch his breath from the constant paranoia. Cyril and his cat, Hilda and her ignorant view, Lorenz calling out Claude's own ignorance, the ever present threat of his half-brothers; it was so much to juggle. He was used to the pressure. He was used to survival. He couldn't afford to break down under the strain.

Dimitri was looking down at him. “Are you cold?” No doubt Dimitri was referring to his shakes that he couldn’t get under control. “Talk to me Claude, please.”

He squeezed himself as tightly curled up as he could. “Hide me. Just for five minutes, that’s all I need. Just for five minutes.”

“I’ll keep you hidden.” Dimitri wrapped the thick yellow comforter around both of them. “I’ll keep you safe and hidden.”

_ Safe and hidden. _ He could trust Dimitri with that. He tore his eyes away from the window. Curled into a ball, he allowed himself to close his eyes and sink his head under the blanket.  _ Small. Hidden. Silent.  _ Nothing could get him if he wasn’t visible or audible.

He pressed his ear to Dimitri’s chest, listening to his heartbeat.  _ Too loud, _ part of him whispered. There was no birdsong to cover the monastery’s creaking, only Dimitri’s heartbeat. 

His five minutes dozed into five silent, restful hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: So you jus gonna bring me a birthday gift on my birthday to my birthday party on my birthday with a birthday gift  
> Hilda: …yes?  
> Claude: but why????
> 
> Marianne in the background: Dear Goddess he’s so stressed. I better not make it worse… Mood tho.
> 
> Dimitri's pov: oh no oh no what do i do he crawled under the bed??? he doesn't feel safe around me anymore!!  
> Ghosts: you ain't shit, son. you fucked it all up again  
> Later, holding Claude: okay. still got it. phew.
> 
> Claude’s understanding of his home country's birthday traditions is a bit warped, both from being a prince and a lack of friends/positive social interactions. Cyril had to get a lot of it explained to him by Lysithea too, but at least the poor kid wasn't stumped about *friends* giving each other bday gifts. Based some of the bday differences (Very very loosely) on Zoroastrianism traditions in ancient Persia.


	19. Kitten Accords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A break from the sadness! (mostly)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for being slow at replying to comments recently. I love every one I get and they really keep me going. If I don't reply, please know that I have read your comment and probably spent the day smiling to myself about it.

Claude peered into the stables. Usually at this time of evening the stables were empty. Perfect time for him to waltz in and say hello to the horses and pegasi. _Or_ to try and sneak Sugarcube out of her stall again.

Turns out, sneaking a big white feathery horse out of a stable with only one entrance and exit was difficult. _Especially_ with the strict stablemaster that hated him. He _really_ wanted to go flying. He hated being grounded. It was just another thing to add to his fraying nerves. He couldn’t shake the mounting pressure plaguing him. If he could just _fly,_ his head would clear right up. He needed to be at top shape for the upcoming ‘attack on the archbishop’ or whatever the real objective was. 

Given his… _fit_ last night on his birthday, he was far from being at his best.

Thus: slipping the stablemaster a little something to get him out of the way and proceeding to sneak Sugarcube out of her stall. It was blatant for his brand of schemes, but he just needed to not be seen and bring Sugarcube back before anyone noticed she was gone. In the words of his mother: easy as peasy. 

His plan fell apart at step one. The stable was occupied by Ferdinand of all people. The Black Eagle student was singing to one of the horses.

He considered his options. He decided to stroll into the stables anyways, quietly creeping to Sugarcube’s stall. He pulled out an apple and fed it to her. Taking a bite of his own apple, he leaned against the stall and listened to Ferdinand’s song.

Claude had to hand it to the noble, he was a talented singer. Perhaps he’d gotten lessons from that opera singer classmate of his — though according to the rumor mill those two hated each other. A shame, they seemed to have a lot in common. Ferdinand was caught up in his singing and facing away from Claude. All he needed to do was coax Sugarcube out of her stall and lead her outside. He’d never ridden bareback on a pegasus before, but it couldn’t be too different from a horse. 

He couldn’t guess how long Ferdinand would sing for. It was an odd sort of song, nothing like the way his own people sing back home. Nor was it the bland, haunting melodies of a church hymn. It wasn’t the rowdy tavern-songs of the common folk. It wasn’t detached like how most nobles sounded about anything that wasn’t about themselves. It was delivered with heart and love, clearly very personal. He might sing for another 30 seconds or another hour for all Claude could tell.

He reached for the stall latch. He just needed to act fast. If Ferdinand _did_ notice, he could easily bluff the gullible noble. He spared a glance back at Ferdinand. His eye caught on the horse being serenaded.

_Damn his soft heart._ He let go of the latch. Preening Sugarcube couldn’t compare to flying, but it was a soothing action as well. He kept an eye on Ferdinand as he patted Sugarcube’s feathers. She whapped him in the face with an overeager wing, leaning over to nicker against his cheek. She enjoyed his preening just as much as she loved treats.

It didn’t take him long to do both of her wings in a quick and sloppy preen. Her wings had already been taken care of for the day so it was really something he did for the fun of it. Just as he finished with the last of her feathers Ferdinand’s song wound to an end.

“Bravo!” Claude lightly clapped. “These horses sure are lucky to be treated to a voice like that.”

Ferdinand jumped, whirling to face him. “Oh! Claude, hello!” He cleared his throat, puffing up his chest. “Why thank you! It is vital for a noble to be talented in all walks of life. Singing is just one of my many talents!”

_Nobility._ Thank the Gods not all nobles were like Lorenz or Ferdinand. He smiled as he always did. “Clearly. Here I thought you might be shy, hiding your voice away in the empty stables.”

“Hiding away? Of course not! A noble never hides!” Ferdinand preened, sharply reminding him of overconfident birds showing off in front of a potential mate. He hoped that wasn’t the case here. “Dear Marengo enjoys hearing my lovely voice! I serenade him when I am given the opportunity between my many noble duties.”

“So this grumpy stallion belongs to you then. I’ve been wondering who owns him.” His lips pressed into a sharp smile. The white stallion wasn’t taken care of well. Claude sometimes took time to groom the poor creature. It was rare for anyone else to groom him. A lot could be learned about how people took care of their animals.

Ferdinand deflated some. “He does not belong to me. Rather, he has no one to ride him. His former rider was slain recently, and since he has allowed none to ride him.” He leveled a stern look at the stallion. “He is temperamental. But I am working with him! Why, in no time at all, I shall have reformed him into the noblest of all noble steeds! ”

“Kind of you.” Claude pushed off the stall door, approaching Ferdinand and the horse. He reached out to stroke Marengo’s snout.

“You should not do that!” There was a beat of silence as Ferdinand watched wide eyed before heaving a sigh of relief. “I rescind my warning. Marengo is prone to biting, you see. Ah-hah! My singing calmed him well!”

Claude refrained from rolling his eyes. “Not to burst your bubble, but this isn’t the first time I’ve come by to see him. Here, I’ll let you in on a trade secret. Hope you’re feeling honored. The key to a horse’s loyalty is _bribery.”_ With his other hand, he pulled out a sugar cube. Winking at Ferdinand, he fed Marengo the cube. “Even the most grumpy horse loves a good sugar cube.”

“I see. This has yielded you decent short-term results, however it is bad form to treat a horse so often. It teaches a horse poor habits and has little nutritional value.”

Claude tuned Ferdinand out as the noble continued to ramble at him. It wasn’t like he fed the horses treats every day. Glancing down, he noted something. “Hey, his stall hasn’t been mucked today. Or for a few days it looks like. It’s late — all the rest of the horses have been cared for.”

“Yes. He is prone to kicking just as often as biting. My intent is to calm him first with song before cleaning his stall. He is clearly calm enough now!” Ferdinand reached out with a confident hand for Marengo’s snout. He was lightly nipped for his trouble.

Claude winced. “You should’ve brought a sugar cube.” He was able to reach out and pet the horse without issue. Marengo even went so far as to lean into his touch. “Sorry pal, no more treats. Not about to reward you for biting someone.”

Ferdinand clutched his bit hand to his chest. “You truly are a master with animals! You have won his affection with so little effort. It seems I must put forth more effort! Ferdinand von Aegir shall not be beaten today!”

“It’s not a competition. You — oof!” Marengo nickered, pushing his neck past the stall door and roughly headbutting into Claude’s chest. “Eheh, someone’s affectionate today. You’d get plenty more care if you didn’t go around biting that hand feeding you.”

“Marvelous. I have never seen him act so sociable! Truly this outcome is merely the result of feeding him treats? I find that difficult to believe, yet he is clearly fond of you!”

Claude shrugged as he dealt with the horse attempting to monopolize his attention. “It’s my secret technique. Just don’t give him too many treats, else he’ll get fat.”

“I am well aware of the dietary needs of a horse.” Ferdinand cleared his throat. “I hate to ask this favor of you, but it seems Marengo will not allow me to clean his stall tonight.”

“So you want me to do it. Look at him. If I step foot into his enclosure, he’s not going to leave me alone for a second. I’ll keep him nice and distracted while you do it.”

“An acceptable compromise! You have my thanks!”

Despite his ‘nobleness’, Ferdinand didn’t scrimp the job. It was a good look into the Adrestian noble’s character: hard-working, soft spot for horses, and a very high self-opinion. Claude’s side of the job was easy. After a minute of petting, he took a brush to Marengo’s coat. The poor stallion was long overdue for a good brushing. If Ferdinand was to be believed, the two of them were the only two people Marengo allowed close enough to groom him.

_“You_ are the mysterious stable-hand!” Ferdinand declared as he finished up. At Claude’s raised eyebrow, he explained. “I have visited Marengo to find his mane and coat mysteriously brushed to perfection. Yet to all that I ask, none will speak up on who does the deed. I see now, it is you! I have heard speculation that it is the ghost of his old rider returning in the dead of night to groom him.”

Claude wiggled his fingers. “Ooo, I’m the spooky ghost groomer! If you don’t tend to your steed, I’ll haunt you, oooo…”

Ferdinand chuckled. “With such talent, you must be planning to take the Cavalier certification!”

“Nah. Horses are nice, but my heart lies elsewhere.”

“A shame! You are a natural born horseman! To pass on Cavalier certification is squandering your potential!”

“I’ve just got so much potential to go around, _something_ has to be squandered. Alas, the burden of being talented at everything. I’m sure you understand.” He winked.

“That is a poor attitude to take. A noble must ensure all talent is put towards the good of the people!”

“The good of the people or the good of the horses?” Marengo nickered into his face. “Hey, don’t you dare lick me.” For once a creature actually listened to him in regards to licking. Behind him came a loud whinny. Sugarcube was giving him a forlorn look, her wings spread in front of her as if to say _‘come back and finish my wings, come pet me more!’_ He returned a flat look that he hoped she could interpret as _‘stop being spoiled’._ Judging by her droopy and sad body language, she didn’t get his message. If he was alone he would have given in and given her some more scritches, but he had a reputation to maintain.

“Oh yes! That hidden talent of yours! I see it clearly now — you intend to ride not a horse but a pegasus into battle!” Ferdinand hummed, narrowing his eyes. “For a man to tame a pegasus is unheard of. However did you manage it?”

He scoffed. “I didn’t _tame_ her. Maybe that’s why no one else seems to be able to do it. Pegasi and wyverns; they’re creatures of the sky. It’s not in their nature to be tamed.”

“Yet how else might you ride one? No wild creature will allow you to mount its back.”

He refrained from rolling his eyes. _That_ was wrong on all levels. “You work _with_ the creature, not against them. Imposing your will only makes them resent you. They aren’t beasts to be ruled with an iron fist. You need to let them come to the idea that it’s _their_ idea to let you ride them.”

“I see. I have never thought about it in such a manner…” Ferdinand eyed Marengo, who was happy to munch at Claude’s hair as he finished brushing his mane. At least the horse wasn’t licking him, not that chewing was much better. “I will take your advice to heart! To work _with_ them, not against them.”

The sound of footsteps came from behind him. Close behind him, far closer than he should have allowed. _Foolish._ He allowed himself to be distracted. 

It wasn’t hard to place the nearly silent steps. When Hubert cleared his throat within stabbing distance, Claude didn’t jump or tense. That would be playing into whatever game Hubert was here to play. _Maybe it was Hubert that would try to kill him._ Though probably not in front of Ferdinand. Maybe.

“Hubert. Good evening.” Ferdinand's enthusiastic tone turned cold. _Interesting._ Claude could feel the tension between the two of them.

“Ferdinand. Still wasting time on this pet project I see.” Hubert’s eyes drifted to him. He winked and waved. _“Von Riegan.”_

“Heya Hubie! Did you come looking for me? Aw, I’m touched! We should hang out more often. Here I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

_“Hubie?”_ Ferdinand’s eyebrows hit his hairline. “You two are friends?”

“Sure are!”

“We are _not.”_

Claude winked at Ferdinand. “Hubert has difficulty expressing friendship. You just have to look under the surface to understand what he _really_ means.”

“Continue with mockery and you will regret being born.”

“See? That’s him telling me he regrets not hanging out more often. We never did finish our last shopping trip.” He leaned over to Ferdinand, whispering “last time we went out, he forgot his coin purse. I think he’s still embarrassed.”

“Whatever he just whispered, I assure you it is a lie.”

“Aw Hubie, are you saying that you didn’t really forget your coin purse? Was that just an excuse? That might hurt my feelings.”

“I hope it does.”

He shrugged. “Nah, I’m an understanding guy.” He patted Marengo, who was growing annoyed by the lack of attention. “After all, we’re great pals!”

“My words are not _idle threats.”_

He nodded to Ferdinand. “The best of pals.”

Ferdinand cleared his throat, looking extremely uncomfortable. “Do you require something, Hubert?”

“Von Riegan. Lady Edelgard requires to speak with you.” He loomed, taking a step closer to Claude. His aura might have been menacing if Claude wasn’t used to that kind of bluster, both real and fake. “Whatever reason for, she will not tell me. You best tread carefully. Any threat to Lady Edelgard does not survive for long.” He smiled. “In fact, it will be my _pleasure_ to see you put in your place. Six feet under.”

Against his wrist Vish curled in agitation. He trusted she wasn’t about to overreact. That would be a difficult mess to deal with. “Sorry Hubie, but I’m not into that kind of roleplay. You’re not really my type.”

“Hubert! I have known you to stoop to dishonorable acts before, but even for yourself this act is brazen and unjust! How unbecoming! Claude is a classmate of ours and a fellow noble!” Ferdinand paused his fuming to turn back to Claude. “Why is Edelgard seeking you? I assure you I can provide anything she can with twice the ability! I implore you come to me rather than her for any Adrestian matter. I _am_ to be the future prime minister, my breadth of knowledge far outstrips Edelgard’s.”

“That is _Lady Edelgard_ to you,” Hubert snapped at Ferdinand. “This has nothing to do with the likes of you. Leave at once.”

_“Excuse me?_ You just ordered me to leave! _Me!_ You hold no such authority over me, nor would I follow such a rude and suspicious order regardless!”

“Then be silent.” Hubert swiveled to scowl back at Claude, taking another step forward to loom into his space. If looks could kill, Hubert would have murdered the majority of the monastery by now, Claude included. Hubert could probably kill _himself_ just by looking in a mirror. Lucky for Claude, no matter what rumors claimed no one could poison someone else with a mere glare. 

Claude maintained his lazy smile as he carefully palmed his hidden dagger. Hubert was _too close._ Hubert wouldn’t do anything stupid in front of Ferdinand. Yet Hubert was not speaking of idle threats either. Vish tensed around his wrist. It would be _very bad_ if she lashed out at the Adrestian princess’ retainer, but he trusted her judgment. If she struck that meant Hubert was acting on his lethal intent. For now she waited.

“I am no fool, nor is Lady Edelgard. Whatever scheme you have employed to coerce her into silence, I shall dismantle it. When your paper-thin hold over her collapses under your own hubris, you best hide. It will not save you, but perhaps it will buy your sniveling life an extra hour.”

“Jealousy isn’t good for your health, Hubie. Trust me, it’s going to be _hilarious_ when you realize what you’re threatening me over. I wonder, is Edelgard too proud or just plain embarrassed? Here I would think she’d trust _you_ way before me, but, eh. What can I say, I’m charming.”

“That is _Lady_ Edelgard to you.” The winding tension and paranoia of the past few weeks came to a head as Hubert gripped an unnaturally warm hand against his shoulder. A faint smell of ozone and smoldering cloth filled the air. Still, he kept his smile pleasant even as his body thrummed with adrenaline.

He tilted his head ever so slightly, eyes half-lidded on Hubert. “You’re going to feel very silly when you learn what she’s hiding from you.” Vish was one wrong move by Hubert away from striking. Better to deal with an international incident than be dead.

Hubert sneered, lowering his voice to a whisper. “I’ve destroyed greater men than you for less. You play the bumbling fool but I see through your lies.” Hubert’s hand kicked up another notch of heat. It was a play at intimidation. If he acknowledged it, that let Hubert win. “Whatever happened to that cowardice of yours? You had no qualms running away to leave Lady Edelgard and that _prince_ you’re ever so fond of to die. I know your sort. At the first hint of danger you will abandon your people and flee to save your own pathetic hide.” He could feel the beginnings of blisters under Hubert’s touch. “All talk until the heat starts to—argh!” 

Hubert’s shout was overshadowed by Marengo’s roar. It was a sound stallions only made in the midst of a life-or-death fight. It was a horrible sound confined to the chaos of battle and nightmares. The unexpected howl terrified every thought out of his head, triggering the _one_ thing he spent his life training _not_ to do: he froze up like a damned frightened deer.

The heat on his arm vanished. His back was pushed against the stall door. Hubert pressed against him. Hubert was shouting. Marengo was there. Ferdinand was shouting. The entire stable exploded with neighs and whinnies. Something was thundering behind his back. The wood thudded over and over.

Vish nipped him.

Everything slammed into focus. Marengo’s neck stretched past the stall door, his teeth clamped into Hubert’s shoulder. Hubert was yelling at the horse, failing to make any ground freeing himself. Ferdinand was on Marengo’s other side trying to push him off of Hubert. Claude was sandwiched between Hubert and the stall door, Marengo’s bite trapping Hubert in that spot. Marengo’s hooves slammed against the stall door, either trying to get free or to break the door itself. 

“Blasted beast!” Dark magic crawled down Hubert’s arm. 

Claude heaved against Marengo’s neck, pushing at the horse while kicking out and knocking Hubert off his feet. Marengo finally let go. Hubert snarled and clutched his shoulder on the ground.

Ferdinand rushed to Hubert’s side. “Are you well? We must take you to the infirmary at once!”

“Not before I end that creature!”

“You’re the one that barreled into his space,” Claude rebuked. Marengo was still slamming himself against his stall door, neighing his head off. He wrapped his arms around the stallion’s neck. “Calm down, hey now, calm down…!”

Snorting, Marengo finally stopped fighting to break out. Instead, he pressed his chin down against Claude, loosing a warning snarl.

Hubert narrowed his eyes. “Enchanting animals to fight your battles for you now, von Riegan? Your cowardice knows no bounds.”

He held back a flinch. _That_ accusation was one he’d faced plenty in his life. 

“Hubert!” Ferdinand snapped. “I am aware you dislike Marengo, but you know as well as I he recently lost his rider! It is no wonder he lashed out as you _threatened_ one of the few people he trusts to be around!”

“This pet project of yours is a fool’s endeavor, Ferdinand.” Still gripping his shoulder, Hubert rose to his feet. “I will not forget this. _Now,_ von Riegan, Lady Edelgard _requires your presence.”_

“I don’t recall her setting up an appointment. Go ahead and relay that message to her.”

Hubert glowered. Marengo snorted, thumping a hoof against the stall door again. 

He grinned at Hubert. “I know what she’s after. Can’t say I’m feeling very charitable right now. She’ll have much better luck begging me for what she wants if she isn’t making demands like an entitled princess.”

Hubert looked ready to choke him. Then he heaved a breath and regained most of his composure.

_“That’s_ better. Much easier being civil, don’t you agree? You should run along and get that shoulder looked at. _Oh,_ but I really don’t recommend reporting this to Manuela. Poor Marengo’s been through enough already, he doesn’t need to deal with punishment. Otherwise that might just be the tipping scale for me to meet with the dear future prime minister instead of Her Royal Edelgardness.”

Ferdinand hovered at Hubert’s side. Hubert whirled away from him and stomped off.

He took a deep breath, willing the shakes from his bones. Hubert was one thing, but Marengo scared the shit out of him. He _expected_ the threats and such from Hubert. A horse scream right next to his ear? No one would expect that. That stallion was lucky Claude was a nice guy. Biting a student so deeply could be grounds to have him put down. Hubert wouldn’t report it though, not with Claude’s threat hanging.

He exchanged an awkward glance with Ferdinand as he calmly stroked down Marengo’s mane. As if nothing happened, the stallion went right back to munching on his hair. 

Ferdinand cleared his throat. “I deeply and sincerely apologize for Hubert’s behavior. There is no excuse for his threats, nor his actions. He is giving the Adrestian Empire a poor name. Do not view his actions as a reflection of Adrestia on a whole.” He lowered himself into a bow.

Claude waved a hand. “Hubert’s one of a kind, I understand.”

Ferdinand nodded. “If there is anything I can help you with in Edelgard’s place, I will gladly do so.” He slowly approached the stallion, reaching out a cautious hand. Marengo snorted a warning.

“Hey, it’s alright…” Claude smoothed down his mane. “I’ll keep your offer in mind for the future.” It’d be good to keep Edelgard on her toes. “This isn’t actually about politics, it’s personal. I don’t think it’s _top secret_ material, but I won’t rat Her Highness out.” He winked at Ferdinand. “If you do manage to get the secret out of her, I guarantee it won’t be what you expect.”

“I… see.” Ferdinand reached out again and this time Marengo allowed himself to be touched. “Well! That was eventful! Marengo you stubborn stallion, you gave everyone such a fright! That was not proper behaviour at all! I suppose it is up to _my_ vocal talents to calm everyone down!”

Claude left Ferdinand to sing. He popped by each stall to pat down all the spooked horses and pegasi. Marengo _really_ managed to spook all of them. As much as he still wanted to sneak Sugarcube out, she was too spooked to fly. He didn’t blame any of them, he was still slightly shaken himself.

The adrenalin low left him tired and shaky. Ironic that the real threat didn’t phase him but his defender managed it. He _expected_ threats from Hubert. A horse? Not so much.

He stepped outside the stables. He nearly stepped on Renart. Cats, dogs, and by his estimate half a billion birds were just… chilling. Outside the stables. Every single animal looked at him. 

“Nice weather we’re having…?”

Thank the Gods most of the monastery was eating dinner. He had a reputation to maintain. Sprinting towards the dorm with a swarm of animals at his heels did _not_ fit his reputation. Nor the swarm of birds struggling to _all_ fit onto him. 

He had a couple of close calls with being tripped. The animals that caught up with him didn’t tackle him as he expected, instead running with him in a circle. Like they were forming a perimeter or something. A rather tight perimeter, resulting in him almost kicking a few critters. 

He slammed the dorm hallway door shut. “What was all that about?” he panted to Renart who, in typical Renart fashion, bounced up into his arms. He _could_ just let the fox fall. He really should. But at this point Renart was used to Claude catching him and it was habit now to catch and hold him. “You are seriously spoiled.”

Renart replied by looking extra cute.

“Did you eat dinner, or am I going to have to tattle to Dedue again?” Claude asked as he waltzed into Dimitri’s room. Noodle slammed into his leg and crawled up his pants to join Renart in his arms.

Dimitri didn’t immediately look up from the dagger he was sharpening at his desk. “Claude, hello. I assure you I… already ate… ah, more birds?”

Claude would have crossed his arms if Renart and Noodle weren’t in the way. He settled for rolling his eyes. “I couldn’t outrun them all.” Judging by the weight on his head, there was at _least_ a crow sitting on him. His shoulders, arms, and part of his back were covered in a dozen or so little songbirds and two pigeons. He moved to the window to open it to force them out, took note of the many birds staring intently at the window, and thought better of it.

“You were successful in convincing the stablemaster to let you ride Sugarcube then?”

“Nope. Next time I’ll convince him for sure.”

“Where did the birds come from, then?”

He cocked his head, receiving a squawk and a few cheeps. _More than just the crow._ “The outside?”

Dimitri stared at him for a handful of uncomfortably long seconds. He nibbled at his lip and looked away, shrugging. “I see. Do you have any plans for tonight?”

He plopped down on Dimitri’s bed, shaking his shoulders and failing to dislodge any of the birds. “I’m thinking some study-snuggles sound perfect.”

Dimitri offered one of his rare teasing smiles. “Snuggles with me or with the birds?”

“Step _one_ of study-snuggles is to get these birds off of me.”

He failed step one. He resigned himself to reading and sulking on Dimitri’s bed while the prince remained at his desk. Eventually Dimitri retrieved the kittens for him when it became clear he wasn’t leaving Dimitri’s room for the night. Just like Renart and Noodle and the _stupid birds,_ the kittens too refused to leave him alone.

“You three are cats. Come on, chase the birds!” He received three kitties content to purr themselves to sleep against his chest. “Freeloaders.”

“I don’t think you mind those birds as much as you claim.”

“I do! They’re annoying. They’re getting in the way of our cuddling!” Dimitri was too afraid of accidentally crushing a bird to cuddle with him. He slapped (gently) at the crow trying to preen his hair. _Again._ “And they keep trying to put me to sleep!” They were a comforting weight, but _Dimitri_ was an even more comforting weight!

Dimitri coughed into his fist, cheeks dusted with pink for some reason. “You should rest. Tomorrow is the rite of rebirth…”

He rolled his eyes. Then checked the window. Birds. Nothing but birds.

A yawn cracked his jaw. He reread the same paragraph for the third time. He wasn’t sure if he was tired or just distracted. Maybe both. He shut his book with a _thump_ and got up, leaving his critters on the bed to return soon with a much bigger critter in tow. Minding his birds, he slumped over Dimitri’s back and wound his arms around Dimitri’s chest. “Come to bed. I _promise_ the birds are smart enough not to be crushed. Look, that one just hopped out of the way!” He pressed his chest flush to Dimitri’s back, propping his chin on top of silky blond hair. 

The soft leather of Dimitri’s gloves traced his interlocked fingers. “I suppose you must be tired. You didn’t sleep much last night. Oh, ahem, my apologies, you asked me not to bring that up. Sorry.”

He sank a little closer to Dimitri. He was doing everything in his power _not_ to think of his embarrassing display last night. Dimitri didn’t _seem_ to be treating him any differently. Dimitri always liked to fuss over him. Not because he was weak, just because that was what Dimitri liked to do. So any further fussing wasn’t because of his cowardly display last night, it was just Dimitri.

His stomach soured as a new thought occurred to him, Hubert’s words echoing from earlier. Claude was a coward from day one, back when he fled from the bandits and left Edelgard and Dimitri to fend for themselves. What if Dimitri _always_ thought him weak? Not just physically, but also… 

“Getting lost in your head again?” Dimitri was facing him now, standing out of the chair and loosely wrapping him in a hug. Dimitri was only two inches taller than him, but that small amount meant he was eye level with Dimitri’s soft, unburdened smile. Up and down Dimitri stroked thumbs along his hips. More and more Dimitri was initiating touch without Claude’s prompting. He was training his sweet Faerghan prince well. “I fear someday you will forget the way back to the rest of us simple-minded mortals.”

He huffed a laugh. “You know how swampy my mind can get. I’ve got a very big brain bowl.” As soon as he said it out loud, it occurred to him that the Almyran saying didn’t translate very well.

Dimitri didn’t immediately respond. He lifted his eyes to look into Dimitri’s. Smudged with dark fatigue, half-lidded, sincere and focused. If Dimitri thought he was a coward, if Dimitri felt even a shred of disgust towards him, those clear blue eyes wouldn’t be so… he actually didn’t know _what_ they were. There was _something_ in his fond gaze. It was a good something.

“You are so…” Dimitri trailed off, swallowing hard. “You’re so very special. You truly are one-of-a-kind. Unique.”

“I’ve heard that one plenty before…” That sour feeling in his stomach returned. “I pride myself on being my own person.”

“Indeed. Far braver than me.” _Hah. Brave._ “You are so unlike any other I have ever met. You’re so much better than the rest of us.”

His grin slipped some. “I’m not _that_ different. Just another person trying to make his way through life and maybe accomplish a thing or two. You’re selling yourself short here. You’re unlike anyone _I’ve_ ever met either. Most people tend to be.” He winked.

“You are spectacular, my dear friend.” Dimitri’s eyes _finally_ stopped staring into him, shifting to look at a bird. “Captivating. Even the birds think so.”

He rolled his eyes. “Did you pick that one up from Sylvain?”

“No. I am merely stating facts.” 

At some point Dimitri stopped petting his hip and moved to hold his waist. Claude had been too busy trying to decipher his eyes to notice. Now though, now he shivered. Dimitri’s hands were almost large enough to wrap all the way around his waist. Not quite. But close. 

“The birds are a charming look on you. Lovely. Very lovely.”

He side-eyed a bird. “I respectfully disagree.”

“Very cute.”

He frowned at the bird in his line of sight. Admittedly they _were_ rather cute.

Dimitri withdrew both hands at once, turning away and muffling a yawn. “We should try to sleep. I’m going to open the window.”

“Ugh, don’t! It’s cold outside!”

“So you say. I’ll overheat if it’s shut. If you get cold, just steal my blankets as you always do.”

Dimitri unlatched the window, and Claude remembered the birds. He tensed in preparation for a swarm to flood in. _Here comes the Bird incident of 1880._ It was bound to happen at some point. But not a single bird flew in. In fact, a few of _his_ birds flew _out_ the window. _Huh._

He settled down with Dimitri in the delightfully small bed. Dimitri doused the candlelight before changing into his nightclothes as he always did. In the meanwhile Claude eyed the window. His birds were _finally_ leaving him alone, though his usual pile of critters were excited to replace the birds. 

Dimitri’s window wasn’t trapped. It shouldn’t matter much — if someone wanted to attack Claude, it wasn’t likely they would look for him with Dimitri. _Possible,_ but unlikely. It was why he was adamant about sleeping in Dimitri’s room. It was safer for the moment. He would never admit it out loud (though Dimitri probably knew), but he didn’t want to sleep in his own room. He felt too exposed. Not so close to his birthday. He just needed a few days away from the room. That was all. The further he got from that date the more his fear would wane. He just needed a safe(ish) place until then.

Dimitri settled in bed with him, engulfing him from behind in warmth and safety. Dimitri flipped them so they both faced the door. “I meant every word,” Dimitri murmured into his hair, brushing at some loose strands. “You are very special. You are so dear to me.”

He shivered. Dimitri no doubt felt that. “What’s with the compliments? If you’re looking for a favor, you can just ask without buttering me up.”

“No favor. I simply… admire you, Claude. You are an inspiration, a shining light in the endless and eternal dark.” One hand slunk under Claude’s shirt to splay against his stomach, the other hand slipping down the neck of his shirt to press against his chest. The soft and thin gloves Dimitri slept in weren’t a perfect substitute for plain skin, but he liked their feeling nonetheless. 

His cheeks burned. “What is this, poetry time?”

“You’re stunning. You deserve to hear that every day, because it’s true. So kind-hearted. Deny it all you want, but you care deeply for your animals.” With so many of ‘his’ animals sleeping with them, it was hard to dispute that. “Everything I said yesterday remains true. You are so vibrant, and bright, and incredible. Brilliant, and talented… and…” 

“Thanks,” he croaked, no longer worried about being cold with his blazing face. The worst thing was that he _knew_ Dimitri was being genuine. It was… weird. Embarrassing. He hated it when Dimitri did this kind of thing. He squirmed in Dimitri’s hold. Not to break free — the opposite. Whether Dimitri did it consciously or not, whenever Claude squirmed he tightened his grip, got closer, and grew more bold with his touch.

Dimitri pulled him flush. He sighed. It was nice. “You fit so perfectly against me,” Dimitri whispered right into his ear. “You are perfect.”

“No one’s perfect,” he croaked again. In reply, Dimitri squeezed his chest and stomach. He couldn’t really blame him — _he_ sure wanted to feel up Dimitri’s abs sometimes. “We should sleep. So stop complimenting me.”

“What’ll you do if I refuse? I am enchanted by your relentless curiosity, your search for truth. Your mind is sharper than any lance or sword.” Dimitri inhaled deeply then let loose a long breath into his hair. “You smell like pine and spice. It’s a lovely smell. You never fail to do the impossible and calm even my most restless thoughts.”

“Thanks?” His voice came out as a squeak now. “Can’t say I’ve been told I smell nice before… uh, you smell good too? Seriously Dimitri, you can stop now.”

“Mmm…” _Oh._ Dimitri was drifting off. He got like this sometimes when he was extra tired. _Damn_ that meant he hadn’t been sleeping for a few days. Claude should have noticed, but he’d been too busy with his own head recently. “Perfect for me… fit so nice and snug… Perfect size… perfect body… perfect mind…”

“You’re sleepy. You always say the cheesiest stuff when you’re sleepy-Dimi.”

“So sweet…” Dimitri mumbled, his usual Faerghan restrain destroyed by the edge of sleep as his hands roamed up and down Claude’s chest. Claude loved it when he let go a bit. No fearful hesitant touches. No aborted movements. Just free affection. Dimitri still responded if Claude told him to stop. He’d tested that multiple times in the past. He liked the way Dimitri touched him. It was different from snuggling with animals. Cheesy as it was, it made him feel special. _Wanted._ It was so rare for people to _want_ him. The way Dimitri clutched him made him feel like he was precious to someone. _Nice_ didn't sum it up, but it was the best word he could come up with. It was _nice_ when Dimitri held him.

With each of Dimitri’s hands down different ends of his shirt, it was getting a bit stretched. He preferred to sleep dressed (it made it easy to be up and alert instantly) but in this instance… “Hah, you might as well take my shirt off. You’re gonna stretch it.”

“So smart…” Claude bit back a yelp as Dimitri yanked his shirt off. Thankfully it didn’t rip. Dimitri could have ripped it off of him if he wanted. Which, maybe he did want that with a shirt that wasn’t his favorite… He needed to remember that for the future.

Dimitri’s warm arms returned to massaging up and down, pausing to squeeze every so often. It was nice if a bit… different. Dimitri got ‘a bit different’ in his sleep sometimes. Claude didn’t mind. It was nice too. He loved the soft cuddles he got, but sometimes sleepy-Dimi’s roughness was what he really craved. Though he could do without sleepy-Dimi’s mindless people-pleasing compliments. He was _really_ going at it tonight with the compliments.

Dimitri’s hair brushed his ear, then he felt something on his temple. A quick peck. “My dear friend… my dear Claude… dear Claude… mmm… my Claude…”

This was the second time Dimitri kissed his forehead. It was the same sort of kiss his mom used to give him when he was young enough for that sort of thing. It made sense that close friends would do it too. A shame he couldn’t wiggle enough to return one for Dimitri. He’d have to do it in the morning.

Dimitri was still mumbling into his ear but it wasn’t coherent. His hands slowed to a stop and a long puff of air signaled Dimitri’s fall into sleep. He swallowed thickly and licked his dry lips. Dimitri was asleep.

“Goodnight, m-my… uh, my dear Dimitri.” How did Dimitri say that with a straight face? He felt like he was going to explode. “Dear friend… my dear friend, Dimitri…” Embarrassing as it was… he had to admit, he liked saying it. But only when Dimitri was asleep and couldn’t hear him.

* * *

Two days had passed since Teach got the _actual legendary mountain-slicing Sword of the damned Creator._ He kept trying to talk to them about it but they were avoiding him ever since he implied that Jeralt might not be their real father. It was a real possibility! They didn't have to be so offended about it. He would get them to open up to him. Maybe not soon, but he would do it. He needed that sword and he needed their weird, compelling charisma too. Plus, well, it was Teach. Their usability aside, he liked them. He was mostly sure they were friends. He hoped they were friends. It was strange being the one with the most friendship experience between them.

He was taking a break from the Sword of the Creator for a bit. If he had to read through one more book of useless drivel on church propaganda he was going to stab himself.

Noodle squawked at him _“[Mine][-Emphasis!]”_

He wiggled his finger and booped her snout. _“[Mine now]. [Watch][-Emphasis]”_ He took his checker and repeated the motion slowly. He moved his piece up and to the side one square, shifting her checker out of place and off of the black tile. With her checker no longer being on black, he picked it up and winked. _“[Mine][-Smug]”_

His ‘teach Noodle checkers’ goal was going surprisingly well. So far it was a simplified version of the game. She didn’t have the dexterity to pick up a checker with her mouth (without swallowing or chewing on it), so instead he taught her to only push the checkers. Each checker could go up and to the side by one spot, and it had to stop on a black tile. If it was left on a white tile, it was a ‘dead’ checker and removed from the board. Since she couldn’t bounce the checkers over top of others to capture pieces, it made the ‘capturing’ process a little different.

_“[Mine]. [Give][-Angry]”_

The fact that she didn’t flip the board like most angry wyverns would was a testament to his and Dimitri’s skills raising her. Or her ability to listen to him — one of the three of them deserved a _lot_ of credit.

He patted her head. “Sorry girl, it’s mine now.” He pointed at one of her pieces that was in capture distance of his piece and winked.

She perked up and carefully repeated his move, pushing her piece into his and sliding it off of its tile. Then she looked up at her, her tail wagging wildly. She didn’t say anything but he could see her silent _‘did I do it right?’_

He picked up his piece and placed it on her side of the table. _“[Yours][-Praise]”_

She cheered some nonsense cheeps. She proceeded to sit on the piece.

“I’m not getting that back, am I.”

He heard the click of her shoes long before she approached him. “Claude. Is now a good time?”

He leaned back in his chair, throwing out a lazy wave. “Well well, you came in person! Now’s a great time. What can I do for Her Royalness? Noodle, come here.” He subtly added a _“[Come here]”_ with a few clicks of his tongue.

Noodle exploded across the board, ‘her’ checker piece clutched between her chest and her wing. She bundled up against him, shouting a loud noise that approximately meant _“[Love you]”_ but also meant anything from _‘give me snuggles’_ to _‘I’m in trouble and pretending not to be.’_ In this case she meant the former, butting her head roughly into his chest.

Edelgard didn’t immediately sit down. Her expression was stuck between confusion and judgement. “Have you been pretending to play checkers with your wyvern?”

“Pretending? No, teaching. Look here, Noodle captured her first enemy soldier.” He tried to show off the piece she still clutched and was nipped for his troubles. “And that enemy soldier is _still_ captured. She’s a budding tactician. Gotta start them young, you know.”

“…Right.” Edelgard took a seat across from him. “You know why I’m here.”

He nodded solemnly. “I do. However, I am forced to deliver some bad news.” He drew the moment out, watching the slight furrow deepening in Edelgard’s brow. “I’m flattered, but in truth you aren’t my type.”

“Excellent. Were you to interpret this as my interest in you, we may have an international incident on our hands. You are the last person I would ever accept a proposal from. I’m not here to play games. Some of us have duties and cannot afford to waste our day away. I’m here to discuss the trio.”

“What trio? A lot of things come in threes.”

“The _kittens,_ Claude. Must you make everything so difficult?” She passed a sheet of parchment to him. Noodle dutifully sniffed the paper for him. He lightly tugged her antler before she could try and taste the paper for him too. “I propose a set schedule. It is to your benefit, as I would no longer need to inconvenience you to request them.”

It was a mock-up calendar with two different proposed timeshares. He tapped on the first one. “Just at a glance, I’m rejecting this one. The triplettes stick together. I’m not going to split them up so that you can get more cuddle time.”

Her lips twisted at ‘cuddle time’ but she didn’t correct him. “I anticipated you stipulating that term. The second arrangement is amenable to you, then?”

“You want them four days a week? Uh, no. Not happening.”

“I am willing to go down to three days.”

“You can adopt your own kittens, you know.” He gestured around them. He could see a pair of kittens and four adult cats from where he sat, not including the duo sleeping on his feet. “No shortage in Garreg Mach!”

“That is not an avenue I wish to pursue currently.” He wondered if she was _that_ attached to the trio or if she just flat out didn’t know how to take care of a kitten full time. 

“What am I even getting out of this? How do you plan to compensate me, hm?” He mock-pouted, pouring on the sarcasm. “You’re depriving me of a lot of cuddle time. They are very dear to me.”

“Yet you are willing to lend them out for profit.”

“They like you well enough. Who am I to deny them some time to socialize?”

“I’ll pay you.”

He laughed. “If you think I need to balance my budget with kitten-hustling, you need to learn more about your neighbor’s finances. I don’t care for gold. My currency is _information._ Here’s what I’m thinking: I get to ask you one question every night you collect the kittens. I’ll even throw in a bonus: nothing involving state secrets or political nonsense.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Yeowch, such a quick rejection. Clearly you don’t want the kittens.”

Her stoic expression twisted into a scowl. “You engineered this. You set me up.”

He raised his hands. “Not my fault you fell in love at first cuddle, Your Highness.”

She spent half a minute of silence glaring at him. She must have more time to waste than she was letting on. “I will tell you one thing you don’t already know once every visit. _You_ do not get to ask the questions.”

He raised an eyebrow, tsking his finger back and forth. “And what if I already know whatever you tell me?”

“Then I’ll tell you something else.”

He grinned. “See, I’m actually doing you a favor here. That’s an _excellent_ deal for me and a poor one for you. After all, what’s to stop me from saying I already know everything you tell me?”

“And what’s to say I’ll reply with the truth about any question you pose?”

“Who’s to say I’ll ask you anything worth lying over? I’m flattered by how much you’re overestimating me.” He held up two fingers. “Two nights a week, and I’ll allow you to veto anything you don’t want to answer, no questions about why you veto it. But if you veto I get to ask a new question.”

She mulled over his proposal. “Three nights and one daytime visit.”

“Two nights and one day. Your room, not mine. You also need to follow their diet and not spoil them with too many treats.” He gave her a look. “And yes, I’ve noticed that you spoil them with treats and fresh food. No more than three treats per kitten per night.”

“Ridiculous. They deserve at _least_ five treats.”

Noodle chirped in agreement. Rather, she heard the word _‘treat’_ and recognized it as a word she liked.

“You can’t haggle me on this point, Edelgard.”

“Fine. Two nights, one day, and access to the kittens in case of emergency, no questions asked.”

“Emergency? What kind of emergency requires kittens to solve?” She glared at him. Aware that she was referring to nightmares, he decided to be merciful and stop prodding on that front. “Fine. I get a freebie question to ask if you collect them for another night though. Not about why you want them, that can be off limits. But no barging into my room. If I’m not in, or if I’m asleep and don’t wake up, you aren’t allowed to break in and steal them.”

She nodded. “I also require to be their primary caregiver during times you are away from the monastery. I won’t allow them to be neglected in your absence.”

He tapped his chin. He usually gave that role to Dimitri, but the poor guy was still scared of hurting them. “You want to be their godmother? Alright, sure. But you better follow their diet. I’ll know if you don’t. If any of the kittens get injured or sick under your care, I maintain the right to retract all of your kitten-privileges.”

“I would never allow that to happen.”

“Then you’ll have no problem agreeing!”

“Given that this is a favor for you, I stipulate that our current ratio of owed favors be cleared.”

“‘Our ratio’? You mean the fact that you owe me ten favors? Uh, _no,_ you aren’t getting out of those so easy. You’re the one that wants the kittens — I’ve got no shortage of people happy to take care of them.”

They hashed out the final details. They came to the deal that Claude would get his questions at the start of the week. In good faith, Edelgard would ‘pay’ before receiving the ‘goods.’

He leaned forward, his mind flooding with possibilities. “So, three whole questions! I’ve got one question I have been _dying_ to ask, so please don’t veto this one. I assure you, I’ll find out one way or another. So: A few months ago Hubert was sneaking around the nearby town. What was he doing on that night?”

He watched her weigh her options. “That’s very vague. Hubert has gone out plenty of times. If I ever knew, I don’t remember by now. This counts towards my question count, by the way. I’ve answered it to the best of my ability.”

He shrugged. He got the detail that Hubert went out often, at least. Easy to assume but nice to have confirmed. “Fair enough. Hmm… what’s your opinion of Ferdinand?”

Her imminent scowl was more than enough of an answer. “Out of all the questions you could ask me, you’re asking me about him? Fine. He sees me as his bitter rival for some reason. He is beyond irritating.”

“Gotcha. Guess my love triangle theory is out the window…”

She fell hook, line, and sinker for his teasing. “Love triangle?!” He wasn’t sure if she was shocked or angry. Probably both. “Ridiculous! Who would even be the third?”

He grinned. “Definitely Hubert.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re just like Dorothea. I’m aware the concept of ‘loyalty’ is a foreign one to someone like you. Life isn’t a cheap romance novel. Hubert’s service to me has nothing to do with love.”

“No, you misunderstand.” He formed a triangle with his fingers. “Ferdinand is in love with you, you’re in love with Hubert, and Hubert is in love with Ferdinand!” Her face turned as crimson as her tights. Judging by her scowl, she was probably more angry than embarrassed… “I’m kidding! Don’t kill me, think of the kittens! Clearly they’re the only ones in this cold, cold world that you love.”

She took a few long breaths. “I loathe to see the day you will be in charge of anything with _this_ level of diplomacy.” 

“C’mon, it’s an ice breaker! We’re closer friends now, don’t you think?”

“No.”

“Aww, you’ll hurt my feelings.”

“Ask your last question so I can get on with my life.”

“Sure, sure. What are your feelings on snakes?”

“…Snakes?”

“Snakes. You know, those little slithery things that—”

_“Veto.”_

He kept the surprise off of his face. “Okay. You could’ve just said no… but I’ll gladly accept that veto and ask my substitute question.” Why did so many people hate snakes? Snakes were great! Maybe it was connected to her fear of rats. “What’s your favorite genre of book?”

“Government studies. Bring the kittens by tonight. Don’t linger. _Goodbye.”_

“Cya later!” He smiled down at Noodle. “I think that went well.”

_“[Treats][-Now][-Now]”_

“I just got done telling Edelgard not to spoil the kittens. You don’t need any treats, silly girl.”

She looked at him with her big sad eyes. _Dammit,_ this was why he needed Dimitri. Dimitri was better at telling her no. They were both atrocious at telling her no, but Dimitri was _slightly_ better at resisting her.

“Fine! Spoiled girl. But only because you did good with checkers. Speaking of that, can I have that checker…?” She nipped him for trying to take it. “Guess it belongs to you now.”

He looked around for any prying eyes. He checked three times. Finding no one, he pecked a quick little kiss on the top of her head. “Okay, okay, let’s go get you a treat…”

* * *

“Lady Edelgard. Say the word and I will _dispose_ of von Riegan.”

“Were he that easy to kill, he would be dead already. As irritating as he is, he does have his merit.”

“…”

“You have something to say? Speak your mind.”

“I fail to see how you are taking this threat so lightly. His cunning is subtle and deceptive. He is dangerous.”

“He is a shrewd negotiator, I agree. His tricks are entrapping, impossible to ignore. It burns me to admit, Hubert, but I fell right into his scheme. I underestimated him in a moment of weakness and he pinpointed and exploited my vulnerability in an instant. With startling effectiveness. However _I_ am the one who controlled the terms. _I_ am in control of our deal. I’m receiving a benefit that far outweighs what he asks for in return. I will not underestimate him in the future.”

_“I see.”_

“Hubert! I see that look in your eyes. Do _not_ harass Claude. Not unless he harasses you first. Don’t you dare jeopardize my deal with Claude in a fit of overprotectiveness.”

“What is he holding over you? What blackmail does he have? I _will_ remove his evidence. Just say the word.”

“Enough.”

“Is it about the Flame Emperor?”

“What? _No!”_

“Lady Edelgard, I cannot protect you if you continue to keep this from me.”

“I have it handled! It’s none of your business!”

“Your business is _my_ business. Von Riegan is a viper, he picks up on even the tiniest detail.”

“Like you and Ferdinand?”

“Like me and…? What does _Ferdinand_ of all people have to do with this?”

“Just baseless conjecture. Or… maybe… could he be right…?”

“Forgive me, I couldn’t hear your whisper.”

“Nothing to worry about.”

“I implore you to tell me. I am concerned for your safety.”

“Enough! Stay out of my kitten deal!”

“Your… what?”

“N-nevermind! Forget what you heard! You heard nothing at all! _Goodnight_ Hubert!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: Heh heh I will make Hubert super paranoid about me for funsies. He's fun to rile up.  
> Hubert: *Paranoid about Claude*  
> Claude: I might have made a miscalculation... 
> 
> In an alternate universe...  
> Ferdinand: It seems to me that Claude von Riegan will court Edelgard for her hand in marriage  
> Dimitri, overhearing: He... _what?!_ How dare that witch seduce Claude! I'll have her head!  
> *Thus war with Adrestia began early*
> 
> Dimitri: *Very Not Platonic*  
> Claude: Wow, I was really missing out on friendship! This is great!
> 
> Claude: Edelgard, why are my kittens revolting  
> Edelgard: You said you wanted them to socialize. Viva la revolution. Down with the Bourgeoisie  
> Claude: Okay but did you have to teach them how to use knives??
> 
> This chapter was supposed to only have like 5 lines from Dimitri. Dimitri decided he was going to be in this chapter. Dimitri decided that Claude needed to be complimented and thirsted over. He just kept gushing about Claude, don't blame me. Claude meanwhile is trying to train Dimitri to be free with his touches which is, uh... working better than he knows.  
> For the record, Claude's not actually picking up on any homoerotic tension between Hubert/Ferdinand that may or may not be there. He thinks Dimitri groping his chest is a friend thing, he's oblivious. He's just being a gremlin. (But Edelgard doesn't need to know that ;3)


	20. Not So Small Problem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dimi has Thoughts, Claude wants to fly, and Sylvain does his best to be a Good Bro at 2am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains some mild sexual content — not really the sexy kind. Specifically: discussions about male anatomy, ‘no-reason-boners’, ‘Claude-reason-boners’, and Sylvain content.
> 
> Oh and Dimitri’s still horny. There’s that. Warning for Dimitri’s horny, horny, really horny thoughts. He’s very pent up.

It had been a few days since Claude’s birthday and the awful night terror. Ever since Claude had taken to spending his evenings and nights with him. Every night Claude had a new excuse: to study late in his room, or visit him at the crack of dusk to say goodnight to Noodle, or to point out a tiny detail in the investigation about Duscur. Last night Claude didn’t even have an excuse, entering his room without so much as a hello and launching into a brainstorming session out loud with himself about the professor’s Sword of the Creator. 

It was hard to watch Claude like this. Something was making his dear friend jump at every sound. As soon as he found out what it was, he would ensure Claude never needed to be afraid ever again. Whatever happened, Claude was leery about being in his own room as soon as night fell. Dimitri was delighted to offer his bed, though he wished the reason was of a different nature.

Claude was still jumpy. He checked every shadow for hidden danger. Perhaps Claude always had and he never noticed. He was doing his best to make Claude feel safe. It was hard to tell how successful he was. Aside from the occasional slip, Claude was good at masking his fear. Every passing day made that more apparent. _A split second glance to the window, his smile never faltering. His lax posture a smokescreen, ready to defend himself at a moment’s notice. The subtle way he tensed when anyone came too close. Refusing to sleep with his back to the door or window._ Dimitri was doing everything in his power to memorize Claude’s tiniest tells. It wasn’t easy and he wasn’t making much progress. Claude was excellent at hiding his feelings. 

He took solace in the fact that Claude came to _him_ for protection. He took far more solace and — dare he admit it even in thought — downright _pleasure_ and bone-deep satisfaction than was proper. Claude was a wary person by nature for all he freely gave affection to those he trusted. In distress, Claude didn’t turn to Hilda, or his classmates, or his professor. Claude came to _Dimitri._

Of course he didn’t want Claude to be distressed. Of course not. He wanted Claude to be happy. Of course he did. He didn’t want Claude to be scared. But when Claude was distressed and scared, he came to Dimitri. And Dimitri liked that. He liked that _very, very much._

“Another one? You’re a menace.”

He smiled down at the beautiful man sprawled out across his lap. Claude half-heartedly tried to defend his hair from Noodle and her flower. From his throat snipped a sound to her in the cute little code he and Noodle shared. No matter how hard Dimitri tried to pick it up, he couldn’t manage more than a ‘word’ or two. He was content to listen to the musical little rhythms. 

It was just the three of them alone in a field of wildflowers. Noodle successfully added another flower to Claude’s hair. He was becoming a gorgeous bouquet and Dimitri saw nothing wrong with that. The two of them chattered back and forth. Sometimes Claude was hesitant to ‘speak’ with Noodle with Dimitri present, though that embarrassment was fading.

“What is she saying?” 

“We’re arguing about how many flowers is ‘too many.’” Claude went limp in mock-defeat, pouting up at him. “I blame this on you.”

He tucked an errant curl of hair behind Claude’s ear. “It was you who gifted her a garland in the first place. She learned this from you.”

“You’re right, it’s Hilda’s fault for giving me a garland.” He shut his eyes and leaned into Dimitri’s palm, not a hint of stress tainting his features. The warm evening sun made his hair glimmer under the sea of blue, purple, and white flowers. The sunlight cast a spotlight on his beautiful bronze skin. And what skin there was — an hour ago Claude elected to shuck off his jacket, boots, and socks. His yellow short-sleeved shirt was a poor mask at modesty. According to Claude the ‘evening chill’ was settling in. Claude’s sense of hot and cold was skewed. Despite his complaints of the ‘chill’, Claude had yet to pull his jacket back on. He just curled closer to Dimitri for that warmth.

Claude picked a flower of his own and tucked it behind the pink ribbon tied to Noodle’s little antler. She replied by rolling onto her back and exposing her belly. Claude gave in instantly and scratched her under-scales. Claude smiled, pure and unrestrained as Noodle squeaked in joy. He was the most beautiful, breathtaking creature to have ever walked the land. The Goddess herself would be hard pressed to match the ethereal grace that Claude so naturally exuded. The man sprawled in his lap was of divine descent, for that was the only explanation for his unnatural majesty.

“…which is why wyverns can digest these without issue, despite the poison in them.” Claude wiggled the purple wildflower in Noodle’s face. Claude told him what the flower was called, but he was having extreme difficulty focusing.

Noodle chirped before flipping upright and darting back into the field of wildflowers; presumably to collect more flowers to put in Claude’s hair. He loved this habit of hers. She made Claude so stunning. Best of all, it meant Claude would ask him to help with his hair when they retired for bed. As nerve racking as the experience could be, every time was a blessing. Ever-confident Claude became shy when he asked the simple thing of Dimitri. He knew it meant something special for Claude to ask him — to _trust_ him — with the request. Lulling Claude to sleep with his own two hands — hands good only for destruction — was addictive.

Claude surprised him by reaching up to tuck the flower in his own blond hair. “Now you aren’t being left out!” He lazily stretched and displayed a peek of skin. Dimitri was becoming very well acquainted with that stretch of skin. Claude never cared when his shirt rode up. “What color of flower do you think she’ll bring next?”

“Green,” he croaked the first color that came to mind. The color green was on his mind a lot.

Claude laughed, his captivating eyes curling with genuine mirth. “Are there green flowers out here that I missed? Or do you mean the stem? That’s cheating.” He wiggled a bit as he sat up, leaning forward to hook his chin over Dimitri’s shoulder and winding his arms and legs in the sort of clinging hug that he was so fond of. The smell of flowers, hair, and _Claude_ overwhelmed all other scents. Carefully he returned the hug. Physical affection was not a strength of his nor something he was well versed in. He was clumsy and stiff returning all of Claude’s affection, but he was learning. He was learning rapidly in the recent week. Why Claude chose _him_ of all people, he still didn’t understand.

If Claude minded the stiffness he didn’t show it. He never did. Claude tucked his legs into his chest and curled closer. Feeling brave, he adjusted his hold on Claude, lifting him a bit and shifting to cradle him. He managed to resist lingering a hand on Claude’s rear, instead resting a hand along the small of his back. His bravery was rewarded by Claude’s pleased hum, and by the protective way he now clutched Claude. His bravery was being rewarded a lot in the past week. His restraint was crumbling. One of these times his bravery would be a brazen step over an invisible line. Claude nuzzled his cheek against Dimitri’s, same as a kitten might. The first time Claude had done that, Dimitri’s face had burst into flames. By now he was used to the gesture. His heart filled to the brim.

“You’re so _warm,”_ Claude practically _purred_ at him. “Mmm… Are all boys from Faerghus furnaces, or just you?”

“My apologies. I tend to run warm.”

“You do _not_ need to apologize. The fact that you even tried means I _clearly_ haven’t shown you enough appreciation. I’m going to kidnap you and keep you in my room when winter hits.”

Claude got cold easily. On the rare night they shared together that he didn’t end up swaddling Claude in his arms, Claude was a rampant blanket thief. When morning came, he often grumbled about being too cold to get up. It was very… ‘charming’ was a safe descriptor. Adorable was more accurate. “I suppose I have no choice but to be kidnapped, then. I will not allow you to freeze. It’s my” — _pleasure —_ “honor to keep you warm.”

“Heh, you might regret that when I hold you to your promise. Gonna need you around _all_ the time.”

“I see no issue with that.” No issue at all. _Claude in his bed, swaddled in Dimitri’s blue blankets. Claude wouldn’t complain of the cold in_ his _bed. Dimitri would ensure he had the warmest, most comfortable blue blankets. Warm enough he wouldn’t need to wear any clothes underneath. Claude would be warm, but he would call Dimitri anyways and beg for body heat. He wouldn’t deny his dear Claude. He would keep his Claude in his bed all winter long, keeping him happy and safe and warm. All for himself. All—_

There were many uncertain things in life. But with Claude there was one certainty. It was a truth so bold and clear that Dimitri couldn’t even attempt to lie to himself.

_‘I love you,’_ he ached to say. 

If he truly loved Claude, he would distance himself. If he truly loved Claude, he would enforce distance between the two of them. Soon he would bring ruin to Claude. Everything he loved burned away in the end. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to let go of Claude. 

_‘I want to kiss you,’_ he longed to tell Claude. _Oh_ how he longed to capture Claude’s mouth with his own. His restraint nearly broke on his friend’s birthday. He had been so, _so_ close to kissing Claude. Right up until he noticed how uncomfortable Claude was. How _scared_ he was. No matter how much he ached to kiss Claude, he refused to ruin their friendship. He’d been successful in reigning in his devilish urge that day and _still_ managed to harm Claude despite that. He’d been so focused on _not_ frightening his friend, on _not_ pressing unwanted advances, on _not_ devouring Claude’s soft peach lips, on _not_ forcing more of those sweet moans, on… 

On _not_ thinking about _any_ of that with Claude _sitting in his lap._ Such rampant thoughts were exactly how he came to harm Claude in the first place, nearly crushing him! Claude seemed to have forgiven him, but he would never forgive himself for his carelessness. Ruminating on his failure was a much safer option around Claude. Not only did he hurt Claude, he also tuned out his friend’s struggles to break free of his monstrous strength. No… he _had_ noticed Claude’s struggles. That was the problem. The squirming, the whimpering and keening, the breathless gasp of _‘Dimitri,’_ he heard and felt it all. And what did he do? He clutched tighter! Worse, he went so far as to _grope_ Claude’s… behind. His _very_ nice behind. The small squeeze hadn’t sated him as he hoped — he _dreamed_ of touching Claude more now, all over, all the time, not a single innocent touch, squeezing and feeling his naked body, devouring those lips and moans, forcing him down as he struggled and whimpered until he started _begging_ for more, and Dimitri would give him more, Dimitri would give him everything, starting with—

Noodle returned with a vivid purple bloom between her teeth. She clambered up both of them and deposited the stem into Claude’s hair. Claude groaned. It was one of his fake groans. Dimitri was beyond grateful that Claude’s chin was still hooked over his shoulder. He couldn’t afford to look into those enrapturing green eyes at the moment.

“Flowers look good in your hair,” he forced himself to speak. _‘You look like a divine being of nature.’_ He held that truth for himself. Claude was unlike anything else. _‘I will keep you all for myself,’_ he refused to admit. He wanted Claude to _only_ have blue flowers in his hair.

Claude chuckled at him. “You say that all the time.” His dear innocent friend continued to nuzzle his cheek. No doubt Claude could feel how warm his cheeks were, but it was hardly a rare instance. Claude delighted in his blushing, though privately Dimitri suspected he did it for the extra warmth. 

_If he tilted Claude’s chin, if he turned his own head, those lips would be on his._

On his other cheek, Noodle mimicked Claude and nuzzled him. “It’s the truth.” He cleared his throat, licking his lips. “Noodle has good taste, clearly.”

_‘You should run,’_ he will never say. If Claude ran from him, he would chase him and catch him and — And he must _not_ think of such things. If he started, he won’t be able to stop thinking about them. That was dangerous, especially so with Claude wiggling deliciously in his lap.

_Claude is a kitten, and a kitten is innocent. Claude is a kitten, and a kitten is innocent. Claude is a kitten, and a kitten is adorable and cute. Claude is a kitten, and a kitten is not attractive or kissable or arousing. Dimitri is not a kitten. Claude is a deer, and Dimitri is a lion, and Dimitri is a hungry lion, and Dimitri_ **_needs_ ** _to taste him, and—_

“How high do you think you could throw me?”

“Excuse me?” He stole a peek at Claude, _beautiful and wild and divine._ Claude was eyeing the evening sky. 

“Think you could throw me into that cloud?” He jerked his chin up.

Dimitri didn’t bother looking up. “I will _not_ throw you!”

“Awww! Killjoy. I don’t _actually_ want you to throw me. Heh, not unless little Noodle’s full grown and ready to catch me.” Claude squirmed a bit in his hold. After a few moments of repressing some distinctly _not_ innocent urges, he remembered that Claude wasn’t strong enough to break out of his hold. Which sent another bolt of _want_ through his core, a sinful want to hold Claude down and never let him go. To hold him as he squirmed, helpless to remain in Dimitri’s protection.

He jerked his arms away from Claude. “Apologies, was that too tight?”

“Nah, I like your big strong muscles.” Claude crawled over his shoulders and swung himself onto Dimitri’s back, hooking legs around his waist in one smooth motion. Bare arms circled around to Dimitri’s bare neck. He rested his chin on Dimitri’s head. Claude's unbearably graceful penchant to use him like a climbing tree was another unique behavior that would have been unthinkable were Claude anyone else. “I bet you could throw me into that cloud.”

He eyed the distant cloud above them. “I could throw a javelin through that cloud, but I doubt I could throw you such a distance.” _He could_ **_never_ ** _throw Claude away from himself._

“You should throw me.”

“Claude! I just said—”

“Not into the cloud! Just toss me up in the air a bit. You’ll catch me.”

The _certainty_ in his voice left Dimitri feeling a host of different emotions. “You can’t know that I’ll catch you.” Claude didn’t immediately reply. Unfortunately Dimitri couldn’t look up and see his expression. “Are you so desperate to be in the sky that you’ll settle for being tossed up and down like a ragdoll?”

Claude snorted. “I’m not desperate. I just think it’ll be fun.” Claude pressed closer, squeezing those tantalizing thighs tighter around his waist. “I like your strength. C’mon, toss me! It’s why you were born with such strength in the first place: to toss me!” Claude furthered the attempt to convince him by nuzzling into his hair. “Pleeeeease? I’ll beg if I have to. You _know_ I’ll get what I want.”

Noodle mimicked Claude by crying out a long whine.

“Claude, I’m not comfortable with that. I would never forgive myself if I didn’t catch you.”

Claude was silent as he stopped nuzzling. “Okay. Guess I got a bit carried away.” He lightly chuckled. “Maybe I am that desperate to get in the sky. I’m not used to being grounded for such long periods of time…”

Claude didn’t often open up about himself. Dimitri felt blessed every time he did. “You used to fly often?” He latched onto the idea of a young Claude flying in the sky. Anything to stop thinking about Claude’s weight on top of him, or of Claude riding _him_ , or of Claude’s windswept hair and blinding smile and open mouth, softly crying out for— 

“Been flying since before I can remember. Hah, my first memory is of being in the sky. You could call the sky my second home. No matter where I am or where I go, the sky is always there to welcome me. All across the world people might be different, but we all share the same exact sky. It’s freedom; plain and simple.” He sighed, longing and wistful.

Dimitri needed to ask Dedue more about Duscur’s sky god. “It suits you. The sky. Tell me, have you ever slept on a cloud? I can imagine you doing as such.” He imagined it. Soft smile, relaxed, adorable. Innocent. _Amidst the blue sky. Bundled in a Blaiddyd Blue cloak, eyes half-lidded and beckoning—_

“Wait, have you never felt a cloud before?”

He cleared his throat. “I, ah, have never flown before.”

_“What?!”_ Claude flung himself from Dimitri’s back, flipping around to straddle his front. Powerful thighs clung to his middle, keeping Claude from sitting on Dimitri’s uncomfortable _problem._ “We _have_ to fix that! Never been flying… Gods and Goddesses!” He despised Claude’s stricken expression. “Blast, none of the wyverns will want to challenge your claim on me, so neither of us can fly one. And a pegasus isn’t bulky enough to carry both of us.”

He closed his eyes and swallowed roughly. _His claim on Claude._ He prayed Claude never learned how often he thought of his ‘claim’ on Claude. That he ‘owned’ Claude, that he ‘won’ him… He _knew_ Noodle was merely a wyvern. Noodle viewed Claude as her mother, and in turn viewed him as her father. They weren’t related, and Noodle was, well, _a wyvern._ But he so loved her. He loved the little wyvern so much it hurt at times. Perhaps it was insulting to real fathers but Dimitri could only liken the love in his chest for Noodle to that of a parent to their child. 

The heady concept of raising a child with Claude was… Goddess, it was too much at times. Some nights he liked to imagine that they were truly married to one another. He liked to imagine what it would be like to raise a (human) child with Claude by his side. To raise children. A lot of children. Dimitri had always wanted a large family, unrealistic as his horrible self made the idea. Claude’s heart was so wide, he would make such an excellent parent. And of course they could care for all the animals Claude desired. Perhaps their children might inherit Claude’s affinity for animals. Nevermind the fact that they would adopt. In his fantasy, he liked to imagine—

It didn’t matter. He would make a poor father and an unworthy partner for Claude. His own father reminded him of that during his nights alone. His nightmares where Claude was injured or dying reminded him of that. The worst were the ones where Noodle or an indistinct child died, clasped in Claude’s bloody arms as Dimitri was helpless only to watch.

He ran his hand down the curve of Claude’s back. He’d barely had a moment to himself in the past week. It was heaven. Perhaps it was a part of Claude’s magic, but he rarely had nightmares so long as he could hold his dear friend. Something about him was irresistible. With Claude’s smaller body tucked carefully against his own, his nightmares were overridden with pleasantly torturous dreams of Claude. Some innocent. Most not. Very few were innocent. Almost none.

Though he pleaded to never learn such a thing through experience, he had to wonder: what happened to one such as Claude in death? Were Claude a mere mortal, Dimitri’s thoughts would no doubt be plagued endlessly by the fear of his untimely death. Even as it was, such a worry festered. But Claude wasn’t mortal, not fully. Would he die from injury, as a normal man might? If the worst _did_ come to pass, where would Claude’s spirit go? Would he truly die? Or would his spirit merely leave his physical form and be reborn again? He wasn’t sure if the idea that Claude wouldn’t haunt him at death was a comfortable one or not.

His hand slipped under Claude’s shirt. For the thousandth time he cursed his gloves and his scarred skin. He traced his thumb up and down Claude’s spine, savoring his delightful little shiver. Whether death could touch Claude or not, there was _something_ out there that had his beloved friend terrified day in and day out. He needed Claude to explain it so he could better protect him. Whenever he so much as came _close_ to bringing it up, Claude deftly changed the subject. He was afraid if he outright asked that Claude would withdraw from him. He couldn’t allow that. Claude wasn’t allowed to leave him.

He brought his other hand down to clutch at Claude’s waist. He curled each hand around his back to grip his hips. He refused to lose Claude like he lost everyone else. Soon Claude would tell him what was making him so afraid, and Dimitri would fix the problem. Claude would be grateful. Claude would continue to warm his bed despite the danger being passed. 

He licked his lips, eyes focused on Claude’s mouth as he mumbled to himself. Claude fiddled with his braid as he thought aloud, his eyes distant. Claude was just too cute when he allowed himself to drift like this. He carefully squeezed Claude’s hips. _Claude didn’t need to wear a shirt… he should take it off for Claude. He might not even notice. He would bundle himself into Dimitri without a thought, seeking protection from the cold. Or maybe he would notice. He might yelp or squeak in the adorable way he did when truly surprised. He would wrap his arms around himself and complain. Dimitri would refuse to return his shirt, forcing him to snuggle closer for warmth. He would grumble at first, but it would be a lie. The truth would seep out and he would relax, because he_ did _want to snuggle up to Dimitri. His chest bare, Dimitri would be free to roam his eyes and hands across every piece of skin. Then he would take off Claude’s pants, and Claude wouldn’t complain. He would be free to grasp those strong thighs, to squeeze as much of that round rear as he wanted, to feel up and down shapely calves. Maybe he would draw more of those delicious moans from Claude. No, there was no maybe. Claude_ would _turn into a moaning mess,_ begging _Dimitri for more._

He froze. He swallowed thickly. He forced himself to level his breathing before Claude noticed. He carefully pulled his hand from where it began to snake under the back of Claude’s pants. This was becoming a problem. No, it had _been_ a problem for days now. Claude was around him more than ever, day and night. Claude was with him as often as possible, rarely leaving his side unless one of them had classwork or duties to attend to. He wasn’t sure Claude fully realized how constantly he kept coming to Dimitri for comfort and protection. It was like Claude was drawn to him just as he was drawn to Claude. _Fate. Soul-mates._ In private there wasn’t a single moment where Claude wasn’t pressed against him. Claude could be buried in a book when he entered the room and he would curl into Dimitri’s side without so much as looking up. Once, half an hour after he sat down with Claude, Claude pulled out of his book to nuzzle into his neck. A few seconds later he stopped, frowned, and asked _“when did you get here?”_

Claude was driving him to madness just as surely as his ghosts. It was a pleasurable madness, one he refused to ruin. Every night his control slipped away more and his dear Claude had yet to mind. He breathed in Claude’s ever present scent. _Madness._ He returned rubbing his thumbs up and down Claude’s hipbone. Claude invaded his dreams and drove away the nightmares. Claude was the only cure to his insomnia and night terrors. Was it Claude’s divinity? Was it his ambient magic? Perhaps it was from the same ability that soothed and enraptured even the most vicious animals. Perhaps that was it. Dimitri was a beast. Only Claude could tame him.

Claude wouldn’t leave him like everyone else. He wouldn’t allow it. No one else could have Claude. _Claude was his._

Claude was still mumbling to himself about flying. Dimitri cleared his throat, resolving _again_ to stop getting lost in his head. Claude deserved better than that (and he deserved much better than Dimitri). “It’s no issue. I’m happy to keep my feet on the ground.”

“You only say that because you’ve never flown. There’s no need to be afraid.” Claude slipped into an expression Dimitri was coming to love, dread, and adore: he was thinking of a scheme. He wanted desperately to kiss that delightful sly smile. “I’ll fix that if it’s the last thing I do.” He knew better than to argue. “You don’t even know what clouds feel like…”

“Are they soft?” _Like your lips? Are they soft too? They must be._

“Not at all. They aren’t solid. And they’re _freezing!_ Very wet. No, you don’t want to fly through a cloud, trust me. They’re great hiding spots, but that’s it.”

Claude unwrapped his legs and raised an expectant eyebrow. He flinched. He was holding Claude up by his waist. He didn’t want to let go. But Claude wanted to be let go. He let go. Predictably Claude didn’t leave him. _(He wouldn’t have allowed it.)_ Claude flopped down and curled around his hips. He jolted as Claude brushed his… _problem._ His very insistent and throbbing problem down south. Claude noticed. How could he not? Dimitri’s clothes did as good a job containing his _problem_ as any clothes could. Dimitri was aroused. He was aroused very often these days no matter what he tried. All it took was a single _thought_ about Claude. 

Claude noticed. He _had_ to notice. Dimitri was by no means small or _subtle._ As always Claude barely acknowledged it. Just a _“whoops”_ as he shimmied to avoid putting pressure on the _problem._ Claude laid down mostly on the grass and rested his head on Dimitri’s lap. He was too damned beautiful, flowers in his hair and sunlight shining and—and _dammit_ Dimitri’s _problem_ hurt.

“Are you okay?”

He flinched. “Yes! I’m great!”

Claude raised an amused eyebrow. “Convincing.”

He grimaced and looked down at himself. “I’m sorry.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “Still worried about that? I don’t get why you’re sorry. It’s just something the body does. Y’know, making sure the blood flow still works and all that. Congratulations Your Royalness, you’ve got excellent blood flow!”

He hesitated. “Is that the only reason it happens…?” _Obviously_ not. If his _problem_ wasn’t clear enough, he grew up with _Sylvain_ of all people.

“What, the reason of not having a reason? Sure. There’s physical stimulation. And, let’s see… excitement. Like, adrenaline or whatever. In the middle of a wrestling match, that kind of thing. Shouldn’t you know this?”

“R-right.” _Why was he having this conversation?!_ “U-um, h-h-how do you… usually… get your problem to, uh, stop?” he squeaked out, face burning almost as hot as his _problem._

“It just goes away. Doesn’t yours?” Claude blinked up at him with those innocent doe eyes.

“Y-yes. Of course. I was just… checking.” Maybe he needed to talk to Sylvain. Was something wrong with him or was this another layer of Claude’s divinity? It made sense. Dimitri’s filthy mind was the opposite of holy. Claude on the other hand, perhaps he was free from mortal impurities and sinful drives.

Claude scratched at one of the flowers in his hair. “You’ve been having it happen a lot though. Is that normal for you? Maybe you should see Manuela just in case.”

“N-no! It’s fine! Very normal! Nothing to see a healer over!”

Claude snickered. “You Faerghans get embarrassed over the weirdest stuff.”

Impossibly green eyes looked up past Dimitri and at the sky. Claude’s amusement faded. Those peach lips smiled but his eyes were so sad. He recognized that look. _Homesick._ _Longing._ His heart wept for Claude’s place trapped on the earth. His soul twisted with guilt that he was happy Claude was _here_ with Dimitri despite his pain.

_An innocent kitten. Innocent, untainted, pure. Free from the inherent sin within all of humanity._

With thoughts of kittens still in his mind, he absently brought his hand to scratch under Claude’s chin. It wasn’t until Claude tilted his head, exposing more of his neck, that Dimitri caught his action. Claude’s eyes fell closed and he hummed.

“It’s nice. You can keep going. Just not my throat.”

_Right,_ his throat was ticklish. As gently as possible, Dimitri continued to scratch the underside of his chin. He was honored for someone like Claude to willingly bear his throat for Dimitri. He longed to take his gloves off and feel the hot skin underneath. He wasn’t willing to ruin everything. He kept the gloves on.

He scratched Claude’s chin for a time. He rubbed the leather of his thumb along Claude’s jawline, swiping over his pretty cheeks. Eventually Claude yawned. “It’s getting late. And getting late means it’s getting freezing.” Claude pulled himself up to return his arms around Dimitri’s neck. His unearthly emerald eyes seemed to shimmer in the fading light of dusk. “Carry me back to the gate?”

“Anything for you.”

“Anything? You shouldn’t promise that. How about… a teeny tiny little toss?” His smile was coy and scheming. His eyes shone with desperation and need.

He bit his lip. “I suppose I can try. Not very high.”

Claude cheered, his body lighting up and smile turning true. Dimitri stood, carefully cradling his dear friend. He took a deep breath, mentally counted to ten, and bounced Claude into the air.

By a few inches.

Claude didn’t say anything. He just stared up with his deep verdant eyes and pouted. He radiated the same air as a kicked kitten.

“I’m _trying._ You _did_ request a ‘teeny tiny’ toss.”

Claude continued to look at him sadly.

He tried again, this time carefully bouncing him up a few feet in the air. 

“Better! Come _on,_ I want some air time!” Noodle chirped, leaping from his shoulder and onto Claude’s stomach. “Oof! Ow. Aw, she wants to fly too! Now you _have_ to toss us both!”

Noodle chirped as if to say, _‘yeah, you_ have _to toss us!’_ She hunkered down onto Claude’s chest, digging her claws into his shirt. Her tail wiggled wildly.

“Just once, understood?” He took a deep breath. _He could do this._ He tossed Claude up into the air. He either underestimated his strength or overestimated Claude’s weight as he flung his friend much higher than he intended.

Claude whooped, Noodle squeed, and Dimitri nearly had a heart attack. He managed to catch Claude. With Claude safely back in his arms, he collapsed into a heap onto the ground. He slumped flat on his back, Claude gleefully sprawling out on top of him. His unfairly handsome friend laughed, squeezing him in a tight hug and nuzzling his neck. Soft hair and flowers pricked his skin. Noodle lavished his cheek with wyvern-kisses. _Goddess above, he loved them both so much._

“I hope that was satisfactory because I’m not doing it again.” _He was_ not _letting go of Claude._

“You’re the best. Thanks, that was fun.” Claude did the _thing._ His newest habit of expression affection. Dimitri only had himself to blame (and thank).

Claude pecked a light kiss on his forehead.

He soaked in Claude’s melodic laughter and affection. He clutched Claude to his chest. If he was hugging Claude a touch too tight, Claude didn’t complain. If he thought he could control himself he would have returned Claude’s peck. He resisted the urge to devour Claude’s lips and cleared his throat instead. “Do you have _any_ fear of falling?”

“Falling is just flying in a very specific direction.”

“If you keep this up, I’ll worry that you might jump from your saddle just for the fun of it.”

“Need a good handful of wyverns before I’ll do that.”

“Claude. Do _not_ jump from your mount’s saddle under _any_ circumstance.”

Claude just laughed at him. “Don’t worry so much! I know what I’m doing. I told you, I’ve been flying my whole life. When I was younger I used to play a game with some of the wild wyverns around my hometown. I’d climb onto a wyvern’s back and hang on until I couldn’t last. Well, when I got older and stronger I purposely leapt off. When I fell, the wyverns would catch me in their talons. Then I’d wiggle my way out of their talons and fall until the next one caught me. Hah, we used to do that for hours on end! I’d try to see how close to the ground I could get and they tried to bring me as high into the clouds as they could. Alas, I’m too heavy to play that game anymore.”

There were a great many things about Claude’s story that alarmed him. The fact that he did this with _wild_ wyverns, creatures famous for their unparalleled viciousness? Or the fact that he did it as a very young child? Or the _falling? For hours on end?! On purpose?! The goal of his game was to_ **_get close to the ground?!_ **

Maybe that was how he came to Fódlan. Perhaps he fell from the heavens. Literally. 

“You aren’t heavy at all,” was what filtered from his brain to his mouth. “Like holding” — _a kitten —_ “Noodle.” A _very, very_ reckless kitten with no self-preservation.

“Oh?” Claude’s eyes did the curly, squinty, adorable thing they did when he was thinking of a scheme. “Are you saying you’ll play it with me as my big and strong alpha wyvern?” His eyes also did that thing when he was teasing.

“Absolutely not!”

Claude’s laughter was worth the teasing. “I’m kidding. It takes between five to a dozen wyverns anyways.”

“Why would you  _ want _ to hit the ground? That… typically leads to…”  _ death. _

“Nah, I just wanted to get  _ close _ to the ground. Y’know, to prove I could. Obviously the wyverns wouldn’t let me  _ hit _ the ground. Falling is fun!” Claude poked his cheeks, forcing his frown into a fake smile. “I guess you wouldn’t know. Seriously, I  _ have _ to get you on a wyvern. You’ll love it!”

“But what if you  _ did _ hit the ground? What then? You would die.”

Claude stopped poking his cheeks to pat his head. “Well — sure. Do you know how hard it is to slip through a net of wyverns for thousands of feet? It wouldn’t have happened.” He shrugged. “Hitting the ground never crossed my mind.”

“Please tell me that childhood story is fake. Claude, I am begging you.”

Claude didn’t.

* * *

“Sylvain. Good evening. How are you? I trust you’ve been keeping out of trouble.”

Sylvain rubbed at his eyes and squinted. _Yep,_ Prince Dimitri was still there. Staring off to the side, hands clasped behind his back, expression openly nervous. Probably. It was hard to tell in the dark.

He leaned against his doorframe and grinned despite the fatigue pulling at his eyelids. “Well well well. What can I do for His Highness at this pleasant hour of two in the morning?”

Dimitri flinched. “Two? Oh. My apologies, it’s far later than I realized. Or earlier, I suppose…”

“It’s all good, I’m usually up at this hour anyways. You’re not my typical kind of company, but I’ll make an exception.” He winked.

Dimitri sighed. “Please don’t make fun of me. I need your advice.”

He bit back a yawn. _“My_ advice? Finally, the day foretold has come to pass! Please step into my office, the love doctor can soothe all your needs.”

Dimitri probably glared at him. In the ambiguous dark he chose to believe Dimitri’s expression was grateful. Glare or no glare, Dimitri walked into his room and shut the door behind him. One lit candle later and Dimitri sat in his desk chair twiddling his thumbs while Sylvain took the desk itself as a chair.

“Is this about your golden buck being away?” Claude had to leave on important Leicester business without notice. Dimitri (and Noodle) sulked the entire day.

“My golden — don’t call Claude that! Sylvain, this is _serious!”_

He raised his hands placatingly. “I’m being serious, promise. I’m always serious when it comes to matters of love.”

Dimitri pinched the brow of his nose. “I already regret this.” He heaved a sigh and looked directly into Sylvain’s eyes, his gaze piercing. “I need you to _promise_ me this stays between us. You can’t tell anyone what I'm about to tell you. It’s a private matter, I shouldn’t tell you either, but….” his shoulders drooped, “I’m in over my head.”

He patted Dimitri’s shoulder. “Hey, you can trust me. On my honor as a knight of Faerghus.” As much as he fooled around, he could be serious when he needed to be. As surprising as it was for His Highness to _actually_ seek out his help, he wasn’t going to betray that trust. “Lay it all on me.”

“It’s about Claude…”

“Are you two having a lover’s spat?”

“No! No, we haven’t had a fight and we’re _not_ lovers.” _Sure._

“Easy, easy. Go on and tell me the problem.”

“It’s… twofold.” Dimitri chewed his lip in an old childhood habit he never outgrew. “How can I determine if Claude is into men?”

He coughed into his fist, struggling not to laugh. “You’re good on that front. He’s into men alright. You _really_ doubting that?”

“This is no laughing matter. It’s fine if he doesn’t like men. I’ll be disappointed but I’ll get over it. The uncertainty is driving me mad.”

“Your Highness. Prince Dimitri. Claude’s gay. _Trust me.”_

Dimitri didn’t trust him. “How are you so certain? How do I know if he, you know, _like_ likes me?”

He chuckled. “Only blind people haven’t noticed how into you Claude is. Besides, sex is a pretty good indicator he _‘like likes’_ you.” 

Dimitri’s face soured at the word ‘sex’. “Are you implying we are… having dalliances?”

He wheezed a half laugh. “Having dalliances! I need to use that one. Your Highness, you aren’t subtle. Your room is right next to mine. You’ve gone to bed with your cute fawn every night this week. _And_ you’ve spent a _lot_ of nights in his room in the past.”

Dimitri’s cheeks dusted pink. “Don’t call him a… ‘cute fawn’. Use his name, please.”

“Aww, are you saying he isn’t a cute fawn? Guess you’re right. Is ‘sexy stag’ better? It’s too bad he wears loose clothes. I bet he’s real eye candy under all that, am I right?”

“Do _not_ talk about him like that.”

“Easy, easy. I’m not going to steal your catch. I’m just saying I have eyes. I’ve seen him in his loungewear, he’s got some tasty calves and a delicious ass—”

_“If you wish to keep those eyes in your skull, you’ll never look at him again.”_

He scooched back an inch and threw up his hands in surrender. “Right! You got it! Riegan booty is off limits! So you’re the jealous type. Good to know, good to know.” For a tiny, brief microsecond, the possibility that Dimitri might kill him crossed his mind. Not that Dimitri _would_ do that. But _wow_ his expression was murderous. “I won’t even look at him!”

Dimitri took a few deep breaths as he continued to scowl. “See to it that you hold to that.”

“You got it! Now back to your sex life!”

Dimitri hissed through his teeth. “I _have_ no sex life. You’ll do well to not _assume_ things about Claude. Or myself.”

He frowned. Dimitri seemed genuinely truthful about that. “Really? Her Royal Highness Princess Noodle had to come from somewhere. Do I need to give you the birds and the bees?”

_“Sylvain.”_

“Sorry, sorry. You’re serious? Huh. What do you two do all night then?”

“We’re very good friends. That is all. We, um… w-we cuddle. Some nights. Claude is, ahem, he’s v-very affectionate.”

He snorted. _Yeah._ He caught some of Claude’s ‘affection’ before. At least Riegan typically kept it to private moments. That guy was brazen as hell. “What else? You’re both healthy and sexy young men. You two _must_ have fooled around. Oral? Blowjobs? You _must’ve_ gotten handsy with each other.”

Dimitri flushed and coughed into his fist. “I, ahem, suppose we’ve gotten… handsy? We, er…. cuddle. A lot. As I said. To my shame I have, ah… f-felt him. A few times. Just a little bit! In times of weakness…” He scrunched his shoulders up to his ears, looking like he wanted to die. “In my defense, he’s beautiful!”

“Oh the woes of a sexy cuddle partner. Nothing wrong with copping a feel. So, is Riegan jr. big?”

“Is he… big? Not particularly? He’s rather average in height, though, um… he’s very slim and, ah, graceful…”

“His dick is?”

_“Sylvain!_ I’m not talking about his… his… thing.”

He tried _so_ hard not to laugh. He really couldn’t _not_ laugh at that. “Well _I’m_ talking about his ‘thing.’” 

Some of that wrath from earlier returned to the prince’s expression. “And I am _not._ I wouldn’t know. I will not _violate_ him.”

“Hold on, what were you feeling up if not his dick?”

Like a switch that anger flipped back to bashfulness. “Um… him? His… body?” 

“Oh you sweet innocent prince.” He ran a hand down his face. “Okay. So you’ve cuddled, touched him, and kissed him. What else?”

“We haven’t kissed.”

Sylvain laughed. “Sure, sure. And I’m a virgin. You’re here to ask my advice in getting into his pants, yeah? I think—”

“We haven’t kissed.”

Sylvain froze. “You two haven’t kissed.”

“No.”

“Oh. Oh this is bad.”

Dimitri buried his face in his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing! He’s so affectionate! _Goddess above,_ you don’t understand. He’s beautiful, and perfect, and he’s _so_ sweet, and he fits into my arms _perfectly_ Sylvain, he’s perfect! He has the most adorable pout, I want to kiss him so bad, but I can’t ruin our friendship! He — he does this thing, he’ll rub his cheek against mine like a cat, a-and it’s so sweet, and he’ll wrap himself around me because he likes that I can hold his weight, and his _thighs_ Sylvain, his _thighs!_ He can ride me with nothing but his thighs wrapping around me, he just — _does it!_ What do I do? I’m losing my mind!”

“Uh. Wow. Okay, you’re uh, in _really_ deep. When you say he ‘rides’ you, do you mean, like…”

“He crawls onto my back and has me carry him places.”

He whistled. “Okay. I think I see why you’re here. Look, Claude’s clearly into you.”

“There’s nothing _clear_ about it!” Dimitri groaned into his hands. “Something is wrong with me. I can’t get him out of my mind. More and more I can’t stop dreaming about him, dream after dream of doing… things. N-not _friend_ things.” He thumped his face onto the desk. “I’m trying so hard but just _smelling_ him makes me…”

He awkwardly patted Dimitri’s back. _Hot damn_ the prince had it _bad_ for Riegan. “What was that last bit? You mumbled it into the wood.”

Dimitri groaned a sound of true agony. “He makes me hard! Aroused! His body torments me! No matter how innocent his action is, my twisted and sinful mind warps it into something sexual!” Dimitri threw himself upright, clutching his shoulder tight enough to bruise. “Please, I’m begging you to tell me how to make it stop! I don't know how much more I can take! I’m going to lose myself, and I’m going to hurt him, and he’ll hate me!”

“Deep breaths, come on, take a few deep breaths. Easy now.” Sylvain pried his shoulder free. “You’re pent up. If it’s as bad as you’re saying then Claude’s got to have noticed. He’s an observant guy. If he hasn’t said anything, that means he doesn’t mind.”

He shook his head. “Claude is… different. He’s special.” Dimitri hesitated as he visibly thought over his words. “Leicester is different from Faerghus in how they express affection.”

“Your Highness, I’ve dated plenty of girls from Leicester. They _are_ more open in their affection. They don’t act how Claude acts.”

“W-well. The, um, environment Claude grew up in, um, I think he’s rather… sheltered, in certain manners. He’s very innocent.”

“Claude von Riegan, the guy known as number one most suspicious person in all the academy?”

“He’s known as _what?_ Who said that?!”

“Nevermind that. No offence, but there’s no way Claude is more sheltered than you.”

“I thought the same, but… Please don’t make fun of me. He gravitates to sitting in my lap all the time. A-and, with my aforementioned problem, plenty of time I, er… poke him. S-so, yes, he’s… aware. He just doesn’t realize _he’s_ the reason!” His shoulders slumped. “And… he never gets ‘excited’ like I do. He’s only interested in me as a close friend, so I _must_ stop f-fantasizing about him. But I don’t know how.”

Sylvain awkwardly patted his back a few more times. “Maybe he’s just better at hiding it than you are. Don’t give up! _Try_ kissing him. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“That I get within an inch of his face, and he freezes up, and looks at me like he’s _terrified._ _That_ is what could and _did_ happen!”

“Er… I mean, that doesn’t sound like the _worst_ possible scenario…”

“I _cannot_ keep… _lusting_ over him like this! I care about _Claude,_ not merely his body! He _is_ beautiful, and perfect, and enchanting. But he’s also smart, and talented, and witty, and kind-hearted. His advice is invaluable, he and I are of one mind. I don’t know what I’ll do without him in my life!”

Dimitri was in love.

He swallowed. He didn’t know anything about _love._ He didn’t know anything about maintaining a relationship either. Sylvain knew how to get a quick fuck (even though he never bedded any women… he refused to create a crest bastard). He knew lust, not love. Love was a wretched thing that only led to heartbreak.

Dimitri didn’t want Claude for his body. That was part of the picture despite Dimitri’s obvious infatuation with Claude’s body. 

He cleared his throat in what he hoped didn’t expose how off-kilter he felt. “Ah, young love. You’ve got some intense feelings for him. Don’t worry so much, Your Highness. It’ll fade over time, love always does. In the meantime, you should try and release your load to keep your libido in check. You know, clean the pipes—”

_“What_ did you say…?”

_Shit,_ jealous-Dimitri was back. “Easy now. I’m saying you should mas—”

Dimitri stood up, toppling the chair behind him. “My love for him is not _fleeting._ It will not _fade. How dare you!”_

_Crunch_ went the wood of his desk where Dimitri gripped it. Dimitri didn’t apologize or even look embarrassed about the show of force. Dimitri _always_ beat himself up over losing control of his strength. Sylvain had a hunch this wasn’t an accidental loss of control.

“I don’t know why I even bothered with you in the first place.” With one last spine-chilling glare, Dimitri left. The door slammed so hard he was going to need new hinges. 

He exhaled, eyeing the destruction. “This might be a problem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: I used to play sky-football with wyverns as a kid  
> Dimitri: Really? Fascinating. How does that work?  
> Claude: I was the football :D  
> Dimitri: Did I say fascinating? I meant horrifying.
> 
> Dimitri: You must be a Demigod  
> Claude: Nope, just Demisexual ;)  
> Sylvain, eavesdropping: Dimitrisexual?!
> 
> Claude: Have a rare lore drop about my past ;) as a treat  
> Dimitri, lost in Claude’s eyes: huh what? Yeah, uh-huh.
> 
> Sylvain: I diagnose you with love  
> Dimitri: I already know that! How do I stop the symptom of lust  
> Sylvain, looking at his PhD in lust: Uh. Let me know if you find out. Maybe you should ask Ingrid about this instead.
> 
> Dimitri: I'll fucking k-word you if you LOOK at Claude  
> Sylvain: Oh. Oh THIS is the boar that Felix talks about.  
> Sylvain: WAIT. Why does Felix know Dimitri goes boar when he's pent up and horny...?
> 
> Me when I started this fic: Ah yes :) a nice easy fic without big plot to worry about. Nice and easy interconnected one-shots.  
> Me: Adds plot. Adds complex racial tensions. Adds Background. Adds lore. Adds bird language. Adds complex Allo/Demi relationship  
> Me: Why have I done the this
> 
> Note: As with previous Dimi-Povs, his thinking is *not* healthy, for himself or for Claude. Dimitri’s views are not my own. Sexuality is not a sinful act, nor does a lack of sex drive make one more ‘pure’. I say this as a sex-repulsed ace — Sex is not inherently bad, sinful, or evil by any stretch. Dimitri’s got some Catholic guilt™ to work through (and a million other issues…) The poor boy is pent up in like a million different ways. And we all know Dimitri doesn't feel things just a little bit. He's the boiling milk of 'go big or go home (and he ain't going home)'.
> 
> Claude’s Demisexuality isn’t a representation of every demi/aces. Some masturbate, some don’t. Some have a libido, some don’t. All are valid.  
> As for his sex ed, let’s just say what little info he got was from his half-bros which he *knows* probably isn’t true, so he only trusts what he observes through his own experience (which aren’t as universal as he thinks). Not having friends/peers his age has fucked with him in a lot of little ways. It's not that he doesn't know about masterbation, it's just really low on his 'what to do about boner' list and doesn't really occur to him.
> 
> Look. Look. I *know* Claude looks like he's stupid. But he's a Demi with limited genuine social experience in a foreign culture. He's trying. Take it from an ace who has none of the previous problems that went through a 30min conversation being called 'perfect' 'brilliant' and 'good looking' and replied with various versions of 'well no one is perfect, that's not possible', 'I got straight B-grades in school so I'm pretty average smart-wise?' and 'Objectively speaking, what even counts as good looking? Maybe you mean the haircut that I just got'. This was all after the person asked for my number, which I thought they wanted as a friend thing. They kept complimenting me and I kept going '???okay??? A lot of this isn't tru tho???', they invited me over to their place and I was like 'that's a long way and I don't have a car rn sry'. Eventually they flat out said 'we should fuck'. I was blown away. In hindsight it's dumb but it flat out didn't occur to me. I was 20 at the time too, so I should have known better lol.
> 
> Next chapter. Claude’s adventure doing the thing he does at the start of Verdant Rain Moon. ft. a bunch of nobles and maybe a new friend down to help him hide bodies


	21. Complimentary Fruit Snacks for the Children

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: some unwanted sexual advances in the second half, nothing explicit

“You could’ve at _least_ given me the chance to grab a book.”

Judith closed her eyes. She inhaled deeply, held it, and slowly exhaled. Her eyes opened and she looked just as angry as before. “Read your damned papers again, boy.”

“Not a boy. For the hundredth time, I already read them. Three times.”

“Read them again. Stop bothering me. You’re testing my patience.”

“Ugh. I’m _bored.”_ He sighed into his palm and looked out the carriage window. The papers were a simple summary of what was going to be brought up at the roundtable. They were barebones and _boring._ He was _supposed_ to be eavesdropping on Teach’s crest examination right now, but _no,_ Judith had the worst timing possible.

He didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye to Noodle (or Dimitri). Teach promised him they would inform Dimitri. With any luck poor Noodle wouldn’t freak out. At least he had Vish curled around his ankle. His streak of caution was serving him well.

“And did you have to come _right_ before lunch?” His stomach growled for emphasis. “I didn’t even eat breakfast.” He’d slept in with Dimitri instead. 

“Eat the jerky then.”

“The jerky that just so _happened_ to be in here? That you can’t identify where it came from? Hard pass.”

Judith looked up from her boring Daphnel paperwork to glower at him. “It’s from our driver, brat. There’s nothing abnormal about it.” She snatched a piece of jerky and bit into it. “Stop being so melodramatic and picky. Just eat already.”

 _“Wow._ Be my guest and get poisoned. Some of us _don’t_ eat random and suspicious food.”

She threw a paperweight at him.

He tried to take a nap. He wasn’t tired. He tried to theorize about Zanado or Duscur or Teach’s new sword. He was too hungry to think straight. He tried daydreaming about Dimitri. That just made him miss the blond prince. He settled on worrying about Noodle and the kittens. What if they thought something happened to him?

“If I have to listen to your stomach one more time, I’m throwing you out the window.”

“You’ve got no one but yourself to blame. Seriously, _half an hour_ to grab some stuff and a bite to eat wouldn’t have killed either of us.”

“You have everything you need at the Riegan manor. _The manor, which is a day’s ride away._ We’re already cutting it close to get there before sundown. The roundtable is tomorrow morning. You’re going to be the acting head this time, you can’t afford to be late.”

“I was late _one_ time.”

“That time you were there to _watch._ This is serious, boy. Count Gloucester will be looking for any reason to take over. If one of the five houses isn’t present it upends the whole balance of the roundtable.”

“I know I said I was bored. That wasn’t a hint for you to lecture me. I _know.”_

He tried to daydream about Dimitri again. He was supposed to have his weekly lance-training with Dimitri tomorrow morning. His feelings were still mixed about those sessions. On one hand, he got to watch Dimitri all sweaty and strong with a lance. He got to _spar_ with a sweaty and strong Dimitri. On the other hand, his pitiful lance skills were holding them both back. There was nothing sexy about tripping over himself in front of Dimitri. Having Dimitri’s complete attention, eyes focused all on _him, only him_ was intoxicating… when he was _competent._ Dimitri staring at him with his ass in the air and face in the dirt was a whole different feeling. Worse, it was rare for Dimitri to so much as work up a sweat when coaching him.

One of these sessions he was going to wrestle Dimitri, and it was going to be _so_ hot. He’d always wanted to wrestle with someone he trusted (who wasn’t an old man like Nader). His mom always said the best way to find a good match (be it friend or otherwise) was to see who could pin who down. Obviously Dimitri would win. Claude wouldn’t let it be an easy fight though. If he riled Dimitri up enough, he might get one of those _growls_ of his. Maybe Dimitri would bite him. More than anything, he wanted to wrestle Dimitri and get the blond to take off his shirt. They could oil up and grapple, and Claude might be slippery enough to hold his own a bit, _and_ he could touch all of those muscles _in action._ Then Dimitri would hold him down, and… he didn’t know what came after that. 

Maybe they could work their way up to a kiss? No, that was too much too fast. ~~He wasn’t~~ Dimitri probably wasn’t ready for that. Which was fine. Claude was fine going slow for Dimitri. Providing Dimitri liked him as anything more than a friend. Hilda’s advice did nothing to help him figure that out. _‘You’ll know it when you feel it’_ meant nothing to him. When he felt _what?_ He didn’t have a clue what he was looking for. She was certain Dimitri liked him back. He just didn’t _know._ He couldn’t put himself out there without knowing for sure. He couldn't risk it.

It might be for the best to put a little distance between them. He had to admit he’d been monopolising Dimitri’s time recently. Not that the prince seemed to mind. Maybe. It was hard to tell. Dimitri was starting to act weird. One minute he would pet Claude, the next he snapped tense as a bowstring and stiff as a statue. He didn’t _think_ it was his fault, but he was the only variable that changed.

Dimitri wasn’t coming to dislike his presence. That much was obvious what with how much Dimitri clung to him in return. If anything, Dimitri was clinging to him _constantly_ when they were alone these days. It was nice. It was surprising how much he liked Dimitri’s belly rubs and general touching. Obviously he loved touching. He loved cuddling. But something was different about Dimitri’s touches and he couldn’t put his finger on _what._

At least Dimitri wasn’t tired of him yet. He didn’t know what he was going to do when that happened.

The carriage came to a halt. Peeking outside, they were still in a forest. The horses were probably getting tired. He calmly exited the carriage to stretch his legs (or, in Judith’s words, escaped with the desperation of a convict).

The carriage driver cleared his throat. “Lady Daphnel, pardon the interruption. I’m… uncertain how to deal with this.”

Claude followed the man’s gesture. Very slowly, he brought his palm to his face. _Of course._

“What the…? Is that a fox?”

“Yes, Lady Daphnel. It seems he’s been there for a while. Apologies for not noticing him before…”

Renart happily snoozed away on top of the carriage. 

“Should I… throw a rock at it?” the carriage driver asked, rubbing his neck.

Claude sighed. “He’s fine, just leave him be. He follows my class around when we go out. That’s Renart.”

“Boy, did you bring your pet _fox?”_

“No. First off, he’s not _mine._ Secondly, he’s a wild animal. He goes where he wants, I don’t have a say in being followed. And third, it’s not just me he’s friendly with. He likes my whole class.” Though Renart did have a bias towards him. 

Hearing his voice woke Renart. The fox leapt up and yipped at him. Renart’s wiggling tail was the only warning he got before the fox launched at him. 

“Oof! You’re a menace.”

Renart replied by turning into a scarf around his neck. He threw Judith a long-suffering grimace.

“Oh…kay then. Takes care of that. Ahem, Lady Daphnel, I’m letting the horses rest for a bit.”

Claude took this as permission to wander around. There wasn’t much interesting on the road. They were flanked on both sides by forest which meant he couldn’t go far. 

“Oh hell yes,” he whispered to himself as something caught his eye. On top of a stone pedestal were a handful of apples. Carriage roads like these sometimes had little waystations for travelers. This had to be the tiniest one he’d ever seen, but he wasn’t going to be ungrateful.

He picked up an apple and sniffed it. Fresh. _Score._ He handed it to Renart who likewise took a careful sniff. The fox, finding nothing wrong with it, chomped into the apple with joy. After watching Renart feast for a bit without suffering poison, Claude swiped an apple for himself. 

He was on his second apple when Judith approached. “We’re about to move on. I see you found yourself a snack. Where did you get an apple from?” She looked up as if she might find an apple tree.

Claude moved aside to present the pedestal. “They’re from this. Help yourself, they’re good.” Judith sharply inhaled, her eyes bugging wide. He froze mid bite. “…What?” 

“Those are for the deer Claude,” she whispered slowly. “Stop eating _this instant.”_

The apples were set on top of a pile of oats. Which was exactly what he’d been informed were usually given as offerings to the Golden Doe. _Whoops._ He finished chewing and swallowed. “I’m sure the deer won’t mind sharing.”

“Boy. I understand you didn’t know any better.” She squeezed his arm tightly, her face pinched with restrained anger. “But you do _not_ take from a deer shrine. Do you understand me?”

“What’s the problem? There’s a whole bushel here! It’s not like I’m taking everything!” His eyes dropped as he felt something wet touch his hand, followed by a familiar kind of grunt. “Oh, hey. It’s you again. You don’t mind sharing, right? Here, have an apple.”

Judith made a wheeze unlike anything he’d ever heard from her. He snickered at her dumbfounded expression. 

“It’s not _that_ big of a deal. He’s just a deer that happens to be white. It happens naturally, it’s not _magic_ or anything.” He squinted at the deer sniffing his hand. “Actually, I take it back. This is a different one from before, she’s a doe. That’s two in, what, a month? They aren’t that rare at all.” He patted her head.

The white doe raised her head and stood at her full height. His eyebrows hit his hairline. Bent over he hadn’t noticed, but she was _huge._ He had to look up to meet eye-to-eye with her. He whistled. “Someone’s been eating a lot of apples.”

Something scrabbled against the stone pedestal. He bit down on his lip to suppress a smile. The doe had two fawns with her. One was white, the other a common honey-brown. He took another apple, pulled out a knife, and cut it in half. He set the two halves on the ground for the fawns. He scooped some of the oats onto the ground as well. A diet of only apples wasn’t healthy for deer.

“Do _not_ pull out a weapon before a White Hind!”

He rolled his eyes and sheathed the knife. “Judith. I _literally_ only cut them a nice apple snack. That’s all. Calm down.”

Unfortunately for him the fawns weren’t hungry. They crowded his legs and ignored his treat. The brown one wobbled onto two legs to bap at his stomach with a needy little whine. The white one just rubbed around his legs and silently begged with big sad eyes.

“Why does this always happen,” he grumbled with annoyance he didn’t feel. The two fawns were sweet and impossible to say no to. He held out for a valiant five seconds before giving in and scratching behind their ears. The big doe grunted, sniffing his face. “Don’t you dare. Don’t—” she licked his face. “Urgh. You’re awful.” He received another lick for his troubles. Renart joined in to give a tiny lick under his chin.

“Goddess above. Not something you see everyday…”

“Are you just going to stand there? I could use some help.”

Judith huffed an incredulous laugh. “Help? With what? Petting the deer?”

“I’ve only got two hands. There are three of them.” He gave in to the brown fawn and reluctantly knelt down. As he expected the little fawn had an agenda. Fawns always did. All fawns were secret tricksters underneath their innocent facade. It leaned up and licked his nose, scrambling to climb him. He was forced to prop it up with his arms. Predictably, it was more than happy to settle in his arms and relax. “Strike that, I no longer have any hands.”

The white fawn bleeted and headbuttted his knee. He made a show of grumbling as he fully sat down and crossed his legs, allowing the white fawn to sit in his lap. “I’m blaming this on you, Judith.” The white fawn wasn’t satisfied with just his lap. He juggled the other fawn to sit in his lap as well and returned to petting them. 

“They like you. A lot. Boy, what the hell?”

There was something in Judith’s whisper that rang alarm bells in his head. “Don’t give me that. It’s not a big deal.” He could _not_ afford for Judith to find out he held up like soggy parchment when it came to sad animal eyes. She would never let him live it down. “I _did_ steal their apples, as you said. I’m just paying my due.” He scratched under the fawns’ chins and nodded down at them for emphasis. “See, they seem to think my payment is worth it.”

He didn’t like the way Judith looked at him. She was rooted to her spot a few feet away, tense as a bowstring. If he didn’t know better he would say she looked _worried._ That couldn’t be right though. She fussed if she was in the mood, but _worry?_ No, that wasn’t Judith. There wasn’t even anything to _be_ worried about.

The fawns were quick to berate him for his wandering attention, demanding more pets. He couldn’t deny them the simple thing.

His stomach growled and both the fawns jumped (but not enough to leave his lap). The duo nosed and pawed at his stomach. “You two are curious little things. Being a deer and being curious don’t go well together.” He patted them both, booping their little noses. “You two better be careful. Not all people are as nice as me, some of them might try to eat you.”

“You warmed up to them fast.”

He held back a flinch and erased his stupid smile. He frowned in _annoyance,_ because the deer were _annoying,_ not cute! His ears burned. _He just baby-talked the deer in front of Judith._ “Like I said, just repaying my debt!”

“Don’t talk about debt,” she snapped. “They’re deer. You owe them _nothing_ Claude.”

“Easy, I was joking. What’s with you?” The mother deer grunted at him. She bowed her head to place something in his lap (on top of her fawns). “Maybe I overpaid if she’s giving me fruit. Huh, where’d she get a pear from? Guess there’s a pear tree somewhere nearby.” He examined the yellow pear and took a bite. “Hey, this is good! Thanks.” He petted the doe. She nuzzled his cheek and (for once) didn’t lick him. “See Judith? Everything’s fine.”

If anything, Judith looked _more_ tense now. “You refuse to eat jerky from my driver, but you’re perfectly fine with a mysterious golden pear given to you by a White Hind in the middle of the woods. Be careful what you accept, boy. You never know when something has a hidden price.”

He didn’t even bother replying to her. He just looked at her blankly and took another bite of pear. And she said _he_ was paranoid. The needy fawns _again_ stole his attention, both of them lightly nipping his wrists. The white one mewled at him and the brown one rolled over to expose its belly. With _those_ convincing arguments, he couldn’t _not_ shower them with attention. He at least had the presence of mind to not _coo_ at them like he wanted to. He wished Judith wasn’t watching him.

The white doe curled up behind him, bracketing his back. It was a familiar position. 

“Oh no. No, nope, nuh-uh, thanks for the pear but I gotta go.” The doe pawed at him, encouraging him to lay down. The two pairs of beady eyes in his lap _begged_ him to stay for a nap. Even _Renart_ betrayed him by nosing into his hair and snuggling. “Stop that!’ He pushed Renart away from his head. _Of course_ the fox figured out his weakness. The doe copied Renart by licking his hair. Gross as it was, he was weak to the nice, calming, rhythmic pattern… A nap _did_ sound nice, and the deer were _very_ soft and fuzzy… 

“Boy? Claude! What are you doing?!”

Only slightly panicking, he jerked his head upright. He shoved the doe away from his hair. “Nothing! Nothing at all! Off you three go, I’m not a bed!” He tried to apologise to the sad animal with his eyes. That just made him feel worse. 

The doe grunted at him, laying her chin on his shoulder. _Damn_ she was a big deer. Not quite as big as the white stag from before, but she was a close second for the biggest deer he’d ever seen. Her forehoof curled around his knee. He could _not_ allow himself to be sat on by a deer in front of Judith! She nosed under his chin, grunting softly at him. By habit he nuzzled her back.

“Claude, you need to get up. We can’t afford to be on the roads by nightfall, we need to go. Move away from the deer. Claude, _get away from the deer.”_

“Right, of course. Obviously. I’m _trying!”_ All three of the deer were happy to snuggle against him. He didn’t want to move them. They looked so cozy… hell, _he_ was really cozy. The white doe was _extremely_ soft, enough so to rival Renart. Before he knew it, he was relaxed against her body and slumping his head into hers. She warmed his back nicely. A little tiny nap wouldn’t hurt. Just five minutes. His eyelids _did_ feel heavy… He could blame it on Judith anyways for not giving him time to prepare. The carriage was boring, but the deer were nice and…

And she was licking his hair again. _Ugh._ No wonder he was so drowsy. It was tempting to just let it happen. The weather was nice, and the deer were soft, and… 

Ugh, no. He really did need to get up. He raised his eyes to the sky and tried to pretend he couldn’t feel three sets of sad eyes boring into him. One of the fawns whimpered. He fought it — he really did. He couldn’t stop his eyelids sliding shut. The fawns snuggled into him. His head lulled against the big doe. The grooming felt so nice. With how high-strung he'd been recently, didn't he deserve a little break? He slumped over, the doe shifting to accommodate him, letting him slump over her back. _Hah,_ she really was big. Probably big enough to ride. If he curled a bit onto her back, she would make a great bed. He curled an arm around her neck, smiling into her fur…

_“Claude!”_

He jerked back upright. _Judith._ He forgot about Judith! He shoved the doe away from his hair, shaking away the drowsiness. Heat flushed from his ears to his chest. Judith was _never_ going to let him live this down! “I was just checking her fur! That’s all! She’s sure got fur, yep! Soft, uh, white fur, very furry!”

“They’re just deer. You need to get up. Claude, _get up.”_

They were _adorable_ deer! Judith’s heart had to be cold and withered to call them _just_ deer! “I don’t see you lending me a hand here! Gah, stop that!” The doe was _really_ insistent about nosing into his hair. And the fawns—

“You don’t need my help. Get _up_ Claude.” He glanced over at her. Her hand was at her hip, white-knuckling her rapier. 

“Hey, you’re the one that told me not to draw any weapons on the deer.” The fawns were whining for his attention again. He didn’t look down at them but he returned to petting them.

“My weapon isn’t drawn yet. Come Claude. We _have_ to go back to the carriage. Stop playing and say goodbye to your new little friends.”

He glared at her. “I’m not a _kid._ Stop treating me like one.”

“Stop playing with the animals and I won’t call you boy for the rest of our trip.”

“Deal.” He was getting up _anyways._ Except, he was a little entangled. “Seriously though, a little help…?”

“They aren’t holding you hostage. Stand under your own power.”

 _“Thanks._ You’re so helpful.” He reluctantly picked up the fawns and settled them on the ground. To his total lack of shock, the fawns wasted no time trying to climb on him again. The mother too did her best to coax him to stay, but he wasn’t about to be bested by cute deer eyes (in front of an audience, at least). He stumbled to his feet. The fawns both crowded his legs and looked up at him with _really_ sad eyes. If Judith wasn’t _right there,_ he would’ve caved immediately. He just closed his eyes and tried to ignore the fuzzy little heads nuzzling his knees. “We better go before more deer show up.”

To his relief (and surprise) the deer didn’t try to follow him. He resolved to not look back at them. Judith wrapped an arm around him and led him back to the carriage, putting herself between him and the deer.

The carriage driver was openly gaping at him. Dropped jaw, wide eyes, and everything. He pinched his brow. _Dammit,_ another witness. “They’re _just_ deer. It doesn’t matter that two of them are white!”

The driver ignored him. “Lady Judith… was that truly what it appeared?”

“Just three deer. Don’t let superstition go to your head.” Despite her words, Judith still sounded off. She also refused to let go of his arm or her rapier.

“But—”

“But _nothing._ We’re leaving. Claude. Get in the carriage.”

The driver gasped. Judith squeezed his arm in a vice, pulling him towards her. “Judith, what the—”

The doe grunted at him. She was behind him. He turned to her, despite Judith yanking him behind her. Lowering her head, the white doe placed another pear at his feet. “Er. Thanks…? I’m good though.”

The doe nudged the pear towards him. With one last dip of her head, she turned around and retreated back to the deer shrine.

“So… are you gonna scold me if I eat that?”

Judith hissed out a breath. He tried to shrug out of her hold but her grip was iron. “It would be rude to spurn a freely offered gift.”

“Earlier you said I should be careful of ‘hidden prices’ or whatever.”

“It’s your choice. Eat it. Don’t eat it. We need to keep moving.”

His stomach growled, making his choice for him. He shrugged and picked it up. It tasted just as good as the last one. Crisp, perfectly juicy without being overripe, sweet but not overly so.

With one last glance at the pointed stare of the driver, Judith shoved him back into the carriage. 

The carriage lurched forward. He nibbled on the pear, unable to maintain eye contact with Judith. After a few beats of silence, he held out the pear. “Uh, it’s good. Want some?”

“The deer gave it to you, not to me. Go on, eat your golden pear.”

“It’s yellow, not gold. It’s just literally just a pear.” He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Your loss.” He offered a nibble to Renart but the fox also refused. _Oh well,_ more for him.

He peered at the window for one last look at the tiny deer shrine. Strangely enough, the deer were already gone. 

It wasn’t until the deer shrine vanished into the distance that Judith untensed and let go of her rapier. “Were you really planning on stabbing a deer?”

She worked her jaw. “Only if I had to. Whatever you do, do _not_ follow any deer into the woods.”

He scoffed. _“Judith._ They’re _deer._ They aren’t going to lure me to a secondary location and shank me. Is there some sort of folk story about a white doe that I don’t know?”

“Don’t bother yourself with superstition. They’re nothing but old, out of date tales. Keep your mouth shut about this and don’t mention this to anyone. You don’t need any extra attention.”

“I’m just curious. Come on, tell me! Not like we’ve got anything else to pass the time.”

“It’s not important. Nothing but superstition.”

“Like mushroom circles?”

 _That_ got her to look away from the window. “Claude, don’t mess with fairy rings. I shouldn’t need to tell you that.”

“Ugh, not you too!”

After that, Judith was weirdly quiet for the rest of the ride.

“Judith, I’m _bored!”_

“Just play with your pet fox.”

Renart was happy with that suggestion.

* * *

It was well into dusk as they reached the Riegan estate.

“That fox of yours is off to cause havoc, isn’t he.”

“I feel like I should be offended on his behalf, but honestly… probably, yeah.” He shrugged. Really, he should have expected Renart to run off. “Eh, it’ll give people something to do around here. Everyone can use a bit of excitement now and then.”

“Don’t forget to be ready in the morning,” Judith told him behind a yawn. “Remember, you _cannot_ afford to be late. Knowing your unpredictable sleep habits, I’ll be here to drag you kicking and screaming out of bed if need be, but you better not get used to it. Understood, boy?”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, got it. You better go to bed yourself, you look like you’re about to pass out. Did you forget to take your daily nap? They say that’s important for the elderly.”

“Can it boy. Be grateful I came to get you in the first place.” Her glower eased and she ruffled his hair. “Sleep well, Claude. Don’t stay up reading all night. And if a deer comes to your window tonight, do _not_ follow it. I refuse to tell your grandfather you got kidnapped by deer.”

He rolled his eyes as hard as possible. 

They parted ways; Judith to her usual guest room and Claude to his own room. 

“Lord Riegan,” a pair of servants greeted him in front of his room, “welcome home. We have made ready your room and stored your luggage. May I take your jacket?”

He eyed the duo. _His luggage._ Of which he brought none. Good thing he had Vish, he might need her. “I’ll keep my jacket, thanks. What are you waiting for? Open my door for me.” He knew how to act the part of a spoiled noble when necessary. 

The servants — a woman and man — eyed each other. The woman cleared her throat. “Ah, forgive us Lord Riegan. I am afraid another servant locked your door and took the key with them.” Funny, because he was the only one with a key. He’d made sure to alter his door key when he first arrived nearly a year ago. Either these were new hires, or… 

Or they wanted him to let them into his room. _Maybe._ Whatever these two were, be they assassins or thieves, they were very stupid. Or they assumed he was stupid. _Or they_ wanted _him to think them stupid._

“Oh, no problem! Here, I’ll get my own key…” He reached into his pocket and clutched his dagger. “Huh, maybe I forgot it back at the academy…”

“Happens to the best of us,” the man said with a sage nod. 

“Yes, that’s right, I must have left it in my luggage, that’s right. Unless… hm, which bag did I bring again? Remind me, was it the yellow one or the leather one?”

The servants shared a glance. “There should be a spare key in the store room. Will His Lordship please accompany us? We do not know the shape of the key.” The woman pursed her lips and heaved an overly long sigh. “We’re ever so sorry for the inconvenience. We can compensate you for the trouble…” She added a high-pitched giggle.

He cocked his head and grinned knowingly. “Weird, that sounds like you two are trying to get me somewhere alone.”

To his surprise, neither denied it. They both eagerly nodded. “Oh yes, Lord Riegan! We were worried you would not be receptive…”

 _Receptive to what?_ Being shanked in a closet somewhere? He certainly was _not_ receptive to that. The man’s smirk grew. The alarm bells in his head were shrieking now. “Your reputation precedes you, Lord Riegan. Aren’t you curious? We will make it more than worth your time. Won’t you have some fun with us?”

He chuckled. “Some fun? Go on, tell me more.”

“Oh, Lord Riegan—” The woman stepped forward to crowd him. He backed up, a mistaken show of weakness on his part. The woman’s smile grew as she advanced on him. She raised her hands, his eyes snapping to them. _Empty._ She adjusted the bust of her uniform. He hadn’t noticed until she brought attention to it, but the outfit looked a few sizes too small. Very uncomfortable. It was a miracle her ample breasts didn’t pop out of the low-cut dress. She continued to move her hands over her chest in a seemingly pointless motion. It wasn’t like she was trying to cover herself — if anything, she was pushing them together and almost pushing them out of the uniform. His gaze darted between her hands and her face, trying to place a motive.

“Would you like to feel?” the man whispered to him, winking. _Feel?_ Feel what? He looked back and forth between the woman and man’s hands. They were both empty, but the couple were advancing on him like a pair of predators. “We have plenty of experience, Young Lord. Come with us and we will show you a night like no other. There are other maids who have expressed interest as well…”

The woman bobbed her head, groaning. “Ooh, oh yes! So many of us are helplessly charmed, Your Lordship. Won’t you let us treat you?” She continued to groan and adjust her uniform. “We promise to be discreet. No need to worry about any accidents either…” The woman lowered her eyes, looking down at his stomach. “Unless, of course, that’s what you want? If you want, you can put a crest baby in me. It would be an honor to be bred…”

 _Oh._ She wasn’t looking at his stomach, she was looking at his crotch. It’d been a good few years since someone tried to seduce him. He swallowed his discomfort. He knew how to play this game. “Now now, I don’t go to bed with nameless strangers.” He wasn’t sure how to act ‘seductive’ so he just went for ‘very charming’ and winked. “It isn’t fair, you both know _my_ name.”

The man chuckled. “Already looking towards the future. Very wise, My Lord. Would you like to scream out _my_ name tonight? That can be arranged.”

“You must be so tired, Lord Riegan,” the woman sighed, fluttering her lashes for some reason. It reminded him sharply of Hilda when she wanted something. “You have such a busy day tomorrow. We can help you have a _wonderful_ rest.”

“Yes, look at the poor lad. His eyelids are drooping!” He was _very_ alert, actually. “You must be so sleepy. What do you say we help you to bed?”

He forced a chuckle of his own. “I think I could stay up for a long time, what with present company.” 

“No need to put on a brave face,” the woman cooed at him, then made a weird moan. It was a struggle to keep his expression straight at the unexpected noise. “You must be _so_ sleepy. Relax.”

“How about you two go find that key ring? I’ll wait here.” He winked again.

“Don’t you want to come with us?” the man growled, getting _way_ too close.

“Are you suggesting I fix the blunder of you two letting the key to my room walk away?” He snapped back to his ‘spoiled noble’ persona. “Step back.”

“Oh? Would you prefer me instead, Lord Riegan?” Now the woman crowded him!

He stepped back and hit a wall. “I will do _nothing_ with the two of you anywhere that is not my own bed. I am no _simpleton._ Now go fetch my key.” And while they were gone, he was going to vanish.

“No.” The woman snatched his elbow. “I think you want us now.”

“Wrong.” He snapped out with his dagger. The woman jerked back, narrowly dodging his strike. The man grabbed his collar before he could duck away and shoved him to the floor. He hit the ground in a roll, putting as much distance between them as he could. Pulling into a crouch he was met with a boot to the face. He swiped out blindly with his dagger and missed again.

“Dammit! He’s supposed to be drugged, what the hell happened?” the woman snarled, pulling out a dagger of her own. 

To his back was the wall. On both sides the two were inching closer to him. He only had one dagger. “How about we talk? Talking’s much better than violence.”

“You had your chance, mutt! You could have had a great night, but _no,_ you—ah!” 

_Gotcha._ He lunged at the man while the woman was ‘distracted’ with Vish. He stabbed at the man’s stomach, no chance he could dodge this time. 

His dagger met resistance. _Armor._ A strong hand snatched his wrist. The man glared down at him with a familiar disgust. He tried to knee the man in the groin only to be interrupted by getting his head smashed into the wall, his weapon flying from his hand. While he was dazed, the man shoved him to the ground and put a knee on his back. Two hands wrapped around his throat and squeezed.

“Something bit me!” was the last thing he heard from the woman before his vision went black. At least Vish got one of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: :D deer!  
> Deer: :D new friend!  
> Judith: oh HELL no. the boy's not going to sell himself to deer for two apples and a pear on MY watch  
> White doe: my child now?? *feeds new hungy child* free child?? yes??  
> Judith: NO! He's not up for adoption!  
> White doe: :( u should take better care of him then
> 
> Claude: I swear I'm not a sap!!!!  
> Also Claude: *covered in baby deer*  
> Judith: wtf  
> Claude: ;-; stop judging me, they're too cute
> 
> Judith: wft, why are these deer so friendly with you  
> Claude: LOOK, for the last time white deer aren't that rare!  
> Judith: That is literally only HALF the weirdness.  
> Claude, doused in deer-cuddles: ??? What else is weird about this?
> 
> Plot? In _THIS_ fic? it can happen! At least Claude's paranoia finally has an outlet now.
> 
> Most of the time when Claude gets 'trapped' by deer, he's physically able to free himself if he just *does* it. Emotionally on the other hand... not so much. They just look so sad when he leaves! ;_; Anyways, more Deer Lore is coming down the pipeline ;)  
> Last chapter I was wrong about what this chapter would be about. _Next_ chapter involves Claude, nobles, and a potential new friend (and maybe he gets adopted... again)


	22. Familiar Taste of Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: First section involves violence, injury, and some brief torture

Throbbing head. Sore body. Aching throat. He tried to move. His wrists and ankles clanged with chains.

Neat.

“Finally awake. Good.” The toe of a boot pressed into his side. He opened his eyes, taking in his environment. The man from before grinned above him in dim light. He was in a small wine cellar. It was a bit dusty.

“Hey now, this doesn’t seem like fun at all. I was promised a fun night.”

“Trust me, it’s going to be a _very_ fun night. For me!” The man traced the shell of his ear, tugging gently at his earring. “I bet this’ll hurt when I tear it out. But where to start, where to start…”

He weighed his options. Acting meek and playing along wouldn’t win him any favors. Annoying the man might be bad for his health, but it was his best bet at getting information. He cocked his cheekiest smirk. “Nobles pay more ransom for returned goods still intact, just so you know. Who paid you? Riegan can pay more.”

The man snatched a fistful of his hair and yanked his head back. “If you think I give a damn about money, you’re dead wrong. Haha! Get it? _Dead_ wrong! I was given orders to keep you busy and nothing more. But I think another story would be more interesting.” The man’s lips curled upwards. “The Leicester mutt goes missing… and all the Duke’s men can’t seem to find him. Not until they find an arm… then a leg… then a mangled head. A _much_ more interesting story than some filthy mutt being caught in bed with more animals. Don’t you think?” The man yanked his head up and down in a nod.

“Easy now, there must be something you want. If not money, what of political favors? Damage me too much and my grandfather won’t negotiate as much for my release.”

The man’s grin vanished. “You ruined a lot of plans showing up like you did. I’m going to make you squeal like the filthy animal you are before you bleed out.”

He tried to move and wasn’t able to do much. If it was just his wrists he could break his thumbs to get out. But with his ankles tied up too, that was out for now. “You’re rather invested in tomorrow’s roundtable. Is it the sugar tariffs or the shipping regulations that’s got you upset? Feel free to vent, I’m all ears.” While he was talking, he tested the chains. He wasn’t connected to the wall. For all of his limited movement, he wasn’t trapped. That was good.

The man yanked at his ear, harshly this time. “Just for that, I’ll rip off your ears first. You never should have left whatever mud-hut you crawled out of. You’re going to wish you never existed.” The man was pissed that he replaced Godfrey, then. Neat. Not very surprising.

“The woman that was with you, she isn’t dead yet. She can still be saved. I have an antidote.” A lie. He usually kept one on his person, but Judith didn’t give him the chance to snag anything before they left.

“Hah! I don’t care about that disgusting animal. Nothing but a loose end. Good riddance.” The man yanked his head to the side. The woman’s body was stuffed in the corner. “You on the other hand, you’ve got some valuable blood in you. I’ll be sure to take some samples. _A lot_ of samples.” The man grinned wickedly. “Maybe I’ll take you home with me… let the others take you apart bit by bit.” 

“Now that’s a unique pallet. I don’t think you’ll find my blood as tasty as you seem to think.” This could work in his favor… slightly. “There’s not-a-auught—” He squirmed as the man clamped a hand around his throat and squeezed.

Just as black spots danced in his vision the man let up. “Can’t have you passing out on me, not before we have some _fun.”_ The man pulled out a dagger. _Claude’s_ dagger. The sharp metal tipped his chin up at the man. “Such a nice toy you gave me. What do you say we make a little painting, just the two of us? Me, the artist. This room, the canvas. The dagger, the brush. And you… the paint.” The man licked his lips.

He knew how to deal with this type. The man wasn’t going to kill him _immediately._ Not yet. That was all he needed to escape. The man was prideful, hateful, and underestimated him. The man thought he had complete control.

Claude gave a show of shaking (not entirely feigned, as strangulation did that sort of thing). “I’ll tell you whatever you want. I’ll do whatever you want,” he whispered just loud enough to hear.

The man drew his face closer to sneer. “Here I thought you’d last longer. Already begging. I’m going to drag everything out of your screams.” The man let the statement hang, pressing his intimidation. It was textbook arrogant behavior. _Predictable._ These kinds of men always were. The dagger tip poked into the underside of his chin.

He let his expression break into terror. He wet his lips in preparation. _Just a little closer._ “P-please… I don’t want to die… don’t come any closer…”

“Hah! Now _this_ is what I like.” The man pressed nose-to-nose with him, hate blazing from his eyes. _Gotcha._

He spat in the man’s eye.

The man flinched backwards, screaming a curse in an unrecognizable language. The man clutched at his face and dropped the dagger. Claude dove for the blade. It fell on the floor and clattered out of his reach. The man screamed more nonsense.

He bit back a shout of his own as a boot slammed into his side. He curled up as best he was able to weather out the kicks. Blow after blow landed until something in him snapped. A rib, probably. The man focused on that spot. More than one rib, definitely.

He blacked out.

Crawling his way back to consciousness hurt. Judging by the man still weakly twitching, he couldn’t have been out more than a few minutes. 

Claude focused on breathing. Every gasp laced a hot knife through his side. With any luck the ribs were just badly cracked and not fully broken. He grit his teeth and crawled to the man.

The man could only twitch. By the time Claude used his limited mobility to find the keys to his shackles, the man was fully paralysed. Vishkanya’s venom was fast like that. It helped that the man got so angry and exerted himself. The eye wasn’t the best entry point for venom but it worked in a pinch. It also helped that his last injection from Vish was a night ago. Nice and fresh in his body. After so many years of injections, it wasn’t just his blood that contained her venom.

He checked the man’s clothes and found nothing. Suspiciously nothing. Not even so much as lint in his pockets. No weapon, no evidence, _nothing._ Just a plain spun generic servant’s outfit.

He heaved himself over to the woman in the corner. By now, she probably wasn’t conscious (if she was lucky). Her pulse still sluggishly pumped though. It would be a mercy to kill her now, she was already as good as dead. He didn’t have an antivenom. The chances of anyone having the correct sort of antivenom on hand was next to zero. Almyran vipers didn’t like Fódlan’s climate, after all. Without any treatment, her heart would stop in a day or two.

He rummaged through her pockets to better success (though still not much). A slim dagger, not the sort he expected an assassin to wear. It was too cheap and flimsy. There was a key that was probably for the cellar. She had two vials on her. One of which he recognized as a sleeping draught, the other of which was a contraceptive. _Gross._ Why did people always think seduction was going to work? What idiot trusted some _random_ woman to get naked around and _sleep_ with?

On second thought, he _knew_ it worked on plenty of people. _Somehow._ Hell, he studied under his father’s court of female assassins for a time. Not that they taught him anything about the seduction side of things. He’d been a young boy when he plied them for their secrets on how to immunize himself to Vish. Vishkanya was named after the poison maidens themselves. Poison and seduction always struck him as an odd combo, but apparently it was efficient.

“You obviously weren’t trained to do this kind of thing. Too sloppy,” he muttered to the woman. At least the vial of sleeping draught meant she probably didn’t plan to kill him… though she did pull a dagger on him. “Sorry, but I won this one. Never underestimate an outsider.”

It would be a mercy to kill her now, but she was already unconscious. Probably wouldn’t ever regain consciousness. The man on the other hand, while paralyzed, was probably still awake. He would deal with the man first and the woman second.

Claude didn’t like killing. Survival came first, above all else. He still didn’t like killing or suffering. He closed the woman’s eyes and returned to the man. He took off the man’s coat. Stabbing might be quicker but it was messy with a chance of being traced back to him and his dagger. Soft strangulation would be just as painless for the numb man. He doubted the man could even feel his own breathing anymore. He twisted the coat arm around the man’s neck, held it tight, and waited. 

He knew it would take a minute or so for the man to die. He held the jacket tight.

The man changed.

Claude flung himself away, vision screaming white with hot pain in his ribs at the sudden movement. His heart pounded as he dragged himself away from the man, scrambling back in the chance that the corpse was about to get back up. Breathing was hard and it _hurt_ with every gasp.

When the man made no movement, he inched closer to poke him with the dagger tip. _Nothing._

The people of Fódlan were pale to Claude. The man’s changed skin color put that to shame. Chalk white. Ghost white. More white than he thought _possible._ The man’s hair changed from a chestnut brown to a light grey. His clothes shifted to dark black and purple leather armor. Even his facial features changed shape.

 _A pale, corpse-like shapeshifter._ Claude didn’t believe in _ghouls._ Ghouls were just stories parents told their children to stop them from sneaking out at night (or maybe that was just his father). Demonic beings of the desert that feasted on fresh flesh and supped on the blood of the youth. Monsters that stole away victims to devour. Creatures of nightmares.

If he wasn’t staring at a _ghoul,_ he didn’t know what else the creature could be. 

On one hand, _fucking terrifying, neat._ On the other hand… beneath his shaking, he wanted to know more. How true were the stories? The creature looked more human than the tales made them sound (though not _that_ human). He poked his dagger deeper into the creature’s skin. It still dripped blood like a freshly-dead human, though its blood looked a little _too_ dark to be normal. It took every brave bone in his body to check the ghoul’s pulse. The skin _felt_ like normal skin, if a little papery…

He lost his nerve, unable to tell apart his own pulse. He didn’t take his eye off the corpse, just _waiting_ for it to jump up and grab him. As curious as he was, he wasn’t curious enough to end up like the victims of a typical ghoul story. He didn’t risk turning away from the corpse. Not even for a second.

He exited the cellar, locking it behind him for good measure. He squashed the instinct to sprint back to his room. Coming down from adrenaline, every breath stabbed of hot pain. It didn’t take him long to identify where he was. He was in one of the far corners of Riegan manor. The old wine cellar was rarely used and far out of the way. It was a terrible walk back to his room. He was lucky it was early enough that he didn’t run into anyone.

Just before he made it back, Vish slithered up to him. She rapidly flicked her tongue at him in her own snakey way of saying _‘are you okay?’_

“I’m fine,” he wheezed. “Hey, good job partner. Don’t think I could have dealt with them both.” He eased himself to the floor to let her crawl onto his arm. Bending over would have been too painful. She tightly squeezed around his wrist in her own way of reassurance. He immediately felt safer. “Don’t know what I’d do without you. How about you, are you okay?” He couldn’t find any injury on her. “Good job.” Vish was great at survival. She knew how to strike-and-hide.

He entered his room (with the key he did in fact have). He had a decent chunk of time before the roundtable. He needed every second. 

His room was dusty. While he was pulling his medical supplies out of his desk, he sneezed and nearly screamed as his ribs shifted. As much as he wanted to air out the room, it was too dangerous to leave the window open.

He did crack it just long enough to let a whimpering Renart inside.

It took him a while to bind his ribs with no small pain. He would kill for a vulnerary but all of his were long expired and useless. He didn’t like his chances at stealth to sneak into the infirmary, so that was out. He took some old dried herbs stashed in his room to help the pain slightly. Given their age they weren’t potent. Even with the medicine, the pain still limited his speed and mobility. He made do. He always did. Binding his own ribs was hard. He didn’t shout or cry. He’d had worse. He made do.

Renart helped. Vish helped. Not in any physical way, but they helped. No matter how irrationional it was, he couldn’t discount the possibility of the ghoul raising from the dead. Renart’s ears were better than his, Renart would hear if an intruder got _close_ to his room. Post-assassination-attempt calm vigilance was already washing over him. Maybe not _quite_ as calm as usual — usually he _knew_ what was after him. The unknown factor of the ghoul was messing with him. Vish kept him steady, her scales a balm to his soul.

He sneezed again and had to take a break. Poor Renart didn’t complain at how tightly he squeezed. If he kept sneezing, he was going to break even more of his ribs (if he hadn’t already).

He dressed into ‘proper’ noble attire. Stiff, tight, horrible noble attire. He hated the sort of dress on an average day. With broken ribs? It was hell. Judith would kill him but he opted for a looser but still mostly ‘noble’ shirt. It might get him some scathing looks but it wasn’t _improper._ The billowy sleeves were perfect for Vish anyways. Checking his mirror, he found a ring of red and purple fingers bruising around his neck. Begrudgingly he wore a cravat. He looked fine, if a few shades paler. It might serve him well to look as pale as a Fódlander for the roundtable.

It took him hours to take care of himself. By the time he looked proper enough to attend the meeting, dawn peeked through his window. 

He gave himself a few minutes to openly wheeze. To rest and exist. He had a full day of politics to attend to. All with no sleep and no food. He could push through. He always did. There was no other option.

Judith didn’t come for him. He’d hoped she would come for him extra early. Ideally he could get her to find him a vulnerary while he was busy playing politics, but that hope was dashed. He couldn’t wait for her. He had to leave if he was going to walk all the way across the manor to the conference room at his hobbling speed.

Walking hurt. Breathing hurt. His throat hurt. Everything was awful. He was alive. He’d weathered worse. He walked slowly but with dignity. He was alive. That was what mattered.

He made it to the morning roundtable conference with five minutes to spare. He was the last to join.

“Young Riegan.” Count Gloucester’s voice echoed around him. The man was even taller than Lorenz. Tall enough to look down on anyone. “So he finally deigns to grace us. Here we thought you may not make it.” Good thing Claude was used to being looked down on. It made people underestimate him.

He bared his teeth in a smile. This was what he knew. This was what _shaped_ him. Gloucester would need to try harder than that to cow him.

“He’s _early._ You’ve been whining about his absence for _half an hour._ He’s here, on time! Now you can put a sock in it.” Holst Goneril, famed general of the alliance, was probably the only person that could get away with talking to Count Gloucester like that. The general wasn’t known for his political accolades but according to Hilda their father was pushing Holst to attend more roundtables. Apparently Claude wasn’t the only one subbing this meeting.

Count Gloucester swiveled to aim his glower at Holst. “We are not at the border, General. There are expected sensibilities at the roundtable.”

“Yep.” Holst planted his chin on his palm and heaved a long sigh. It was a little impressive how much sheer _boredom_ the general packed into his expression. “Common respect is one of those sensibilities too. Just in case you forgot, Lord Gloucester. Worry not, we all forget every now and then.”

This was his first time seeing Holst up close. So far he was living up to his famous brash reputation. On the bright side, this was Claude’s best opportunity to look a bit pale. If anyone would catch onto his heritage, it would be the general. He took a moment to sear Gloucester’s displeased expression into his memory. It was a good look on the Count. 

He cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, why don’t we begin the meeting.” He knew how to project his voice like a leader. That took too much breath and wasn’t possible for his sore throat. His voice came out weak and soft. _He could work with it._ It wasn’t ideal, but he would make do. As important as this first impression was, it would do well to be a bit underestimated. Being ‘soft-spoken’ was fine.

Bowing as he was expected to was hard. Maintaining an easy expression through the pain was even harder. He was mostly certain he managed it though. He smiled through the pain. He would not flinch, he would not show weakness. He would not share a shred of weakness he didn’t purposefully plant. “It is my honor to serve as Duke Oswald von Riegan’s proxy for this roundtable session.” The words had been drilled into his head months ago. It was easy to recite them. He took his place at the empty seat. Sitting down was agony.

He was just about to launch into the words to start the meeting when Count Gloucester stood, slamming his hands onto the table. “I object to the boy’s place. He is under the age of maturity and thus cannot be acting head.”

“Is there a precedent for that?” Margrave Edmund drawled. Claude wasn’t sure if he was bored or if that was just how his face looked.

“Of course. We are not the _Kingdom,_ we do not place children in charge of our affairs!” 

Claude refrained from rolling his eyes. _Sure, if that’s the case, why is Dimitri’s uncle the regent?_ “You refuse to see me as a legitimate stand-in for the current Duke Riegan, due to being under the age of 18, is that correct?”

“Precisely. I believe the assembled lords shall agree with me.”

Claude nodded as well. “Very well. Now, as that is out of the way, I hereby begin this roundtable as acting head in place of the Duke of Riegan.”

“What? I object! Child, you cannot _ignore—”_

“Calm down, Gloucester,” Holst said with a poorly disguised grin. “You’re right. We shouldn’t have a head under the age of 18.”

 _“Thank_ you, General Goneril. Now, as the only suitable replacement, I—”

“Suitable replacement? We don’t need one.” Holst jerked a thumb at Claude. “He’s 18. My sister went to his birthday and everything.”

Count Gloucester froze, mouth clicking shut. Claude cleared his throat. “I can corroborate that. I also attended my own birthday celebration. Unless there is any other objection, I move we proceed to attendance.”

* * *

Lunch break could _not_ come soon enough. His side was on fire and he was finding difficulty projecting his voice. Breathing was also difficult. So was remaining conscious. Talking was agony. He couldn’t afford to show weakness even as the room spun, so he didn’t. He sat up straight, kept his face impassive and smiled, and didn’t shout at all.

He was _done_ with Count Gloucester’s demands for him to speak up.

For once he loved the frivolous nature of nobles. Two hours for lunch was excessive and nobility loved excessiveness. It worked in his favor for now. He had a lot to do in that time. He needed to find Judith, who should be waiting outside of the roundtable room. He needed to eat, _desperately,_ because all he’d eaten in the past 24 hours were those deer apples and pears. But he needed to be sure the food wasn’t poisoned. He also needed to hunt down some medicine or _something._ He would continue, because he had to, but he _really_ wanted something for the pain.

“Lord Riegan, a moment of your time?”

He didn’t allow his grin to falter. “Of course, General Goneril. What may I do for you?”

“None of that, Holst is fine. You’re my little sister’s best friend!”

“In that case, Claude is fine for me.”

Holst nodded with a smile. “Let’s walk, shall we?” A good idea, given that the other lords were still milling around the room. The less he talked around Count Gloucester, the less ammunition the man had against him.

The two of them exited the conference room. _No Judith._ Odd. Worrying too.

“You look like you’re searching for something. Coin for your thought?”

“I expected Judith. Come to think of it, I should have seen her this morning.” Dread pooled in his stomach. “Did you happen to catch her?”

“You must be pretty close to the Hero of Daphnel for her to let you call her by name.” Holst winked at him. “She really took you under her wing, didn’t she. Can’t say I’m surprised, good old Judith always has had a secret soft spot.”

He refrained from giving anything else away. He _should_ have called her ‘Lady Judith’ at least. He was usually better at this sort of thing. It was no secret that she was a close ally of House Riegan, but he didn’t need to _flaunt_ it currently. “‘Good old Judith’? I could say the same for you. I’m surprised she lets anyone call her ‘old.’”

Holst shrugged. “I’ve known her since I was a boy. What do you say the two of us give her a visit? You’re right, it’s odd she isn’t here. Being able to rub her sleeping in will be the highlight of my life!”

He nodded and they started walking. “Sounds like there’s a story behind that.” With any luck Holst was like his sister and could talk for the both of them. Walking was hard enough as it was. He wasn’t sure he had enough air to walk and talk at the same time.

“Not unless I want Judith to disembowel me! Nice try. Judith has mountains more embarrassing stories about me than I do her. I’ve learned to keep my mouth shut.”

 _Interesting._ So the two of them had a history. He knew what topic he was going to pester Judith about on the way back to Garreg Mach. Daphnel and Goneril were on complete opposite ends of Leicester. Holst and Judith also had a lot of years between them — more than between him and Holst. 

“You seem like a nice guy, Claude. I’m going to save us both some time and cut to the chase. What are your intentions towards my sister?”

He raised an eyebrow, doing his best to walk in a straight line and not sway. He was successful as far as he could tell. “Intentions? To keep her as my best friend, I suppose.” He was wheezing, but he made sure to do it very quietly.

“Hah! ‘Besties’, is that right? She writes about you a lot, though never many details.”

How far was Judith's room? He couldn’t remember and his head was swimming. He hoped they were close. “Only good things, I hope.”

“This and that. You seem like a good kid, you’ve got a smart head on your shoulders. So far so good with the roundtable. I wouldn’t’ve guessed this was your first roundtable! Goneril and Riegan have been close houses for generations. I bet a young man like yourself must be in the market for a wife.”

Dammit, why did all the hallways have to look exactly the same? “Plenty of my classmates are, plenty aren’t.” Judith’s room _had_ to be nearby.

Holst snatched his shoulder and turned him. “This way kid, hah, did you forget where Judith’s room is? She always has the same guest room, you know.” He didn’t have a clue where he was in the manor. He was too focused on putting one foot in front of the other. It was a lucky break that Holst knew where he was going. “My father has been considering strengthening our house ties. Personally I don’t think it’s necessary. What do you think?”

 _That Holst was walking way too fast._ He could barely keep up. His wheezing was getting louder, turning into little gasps he couldn’t control. “Stronger ties are always good.”

Holst stopped and Claude nearly ran into him. “Is that so? If an offer was presented to you for my little sister’s hand… what would you do?”

It took him a moment to register Holst’s words. He listed against the wall in what he hoped looked like a natural lean. “Her… hand? As in marriage?” Ideal. It would be beyond ideal and his best shot at busting open Fódlan’s Throat. _If_ he trusted her not to kill him the moment she learned who he was, maybe. But… no, he couldn’t do that to her. Not when he planned to leave within a few years. Not when she was so smitten with Marianne. His ambitions aside, he couldn’t do that to Hilda. “No, not Hilda.”

 _“Not Hilda._ You don’t think she’s pretty enough for you? Good enough?” Holst’s voice dipped low.

Holst’s expression was blurry. Everything was blurry. Had been for a while. “She’s beautiful and brilliant. Sharper than she gives herself credit for. Anyone would be lucky to have her as a wife.”

“But not you?”

Was this some sort of interrogation? He was missing something. Holst was being too pointed in his innocent seeming questions. “I’m not focused on that sort of thing at the moment.” Plus the idea of marrying Hilda was weird.

“If my father _does_ offer Hilda’s hand to you, you’ll reject it?” Holst clasped his shoulder, pain sparking down his collarbone and his vision flashing white. _Huh,_ maybe that was cracked too.

“A-ah. The only one I’d consider accepting Hilda’s marriage proposal from is Hilda herself. A-and that’s… not happening.”

“Good answer! How about the Edmund girl?” Holst ushered him off the wall and started walking again.

“Same answer.”

“Good lad. No need to sweat! I think Riegan and Goneril will stay allies for a long time to come. Just don’t go hurting my little sis. If you do, I’ll make sure you know well why the Almyran’s fear me.”

He blamed the swathes of pain for the way his steps stuttered. Holst didn’t know, did he? No, if he knew, Claude’s head would be on the floor. 

“Hah! Don’t look so concerned! I don’t think we’ll be having any issues, kid. You’re going to have a rough time at the roundtable after your grandfather passes. Us young bloods gotta stick together! I can’t speak for my father. Myself? You’ve got an ally in me, Claude.”

The moment Holst pledged support, he slapped Claude on the back. Normally the gesture would’ve made him stumble, maybe even fall over. Goneril strength was nothing to scoff at.

He woke up on the floor with a panicked Holst hovering above him and Vish twisting with a preparation to strike. 

“Fine. I’m… fine,” he choked out, shifting his arm with Vish away from Holst. “You’ve… got a… good arm.” He coughed, which tasted like agony and blood. “Aw… shit.”

“I didn’t hit you that hard!” Holst dug fingers under his cravat, taking it off to check his pulse. “What…?”

“Put that back on,” he wheezed. He couldn’t let anyone else see the strangulation marks.

_“What happened.”_

“The problem’s… urgh, t-taken care of.” He tried to sit back up and almost fainted again. Holst helped him sit up which, on the bright side, worked. On the down side, he nearly bit through his tongue from the pain. “Just some… cra-a-acked ribs…” _Shit,_ he couldn’t get his words out as anything but weak little wheezes. Falling on his broken ribs might have jostled something. _Weakness. He was displaying weakness._

“Holy shit kid, why didn’t you say something?! Why haven’t you been to a damned healer!?”

“Haven’t had the chance. H-has anyone told you… you’ve got one hell of an arm? A-and I thought… Hilda was strong…”

“Shit kid, I’ll carry you—”

“No. I’m good.” He grit his teeth and stood, clutching the wall for dear life. He only swayed some. “Judith first.”

“No, hell no, you need a healer!”

Panting, each breath a stab in itself, he bared his teeth into a smile. “If you think I can’t still defend myself… you’re sorely mistaken.” He peered up and down the hall. Empty. “You just got done… saying you’re here… to help me out. Prove it and don’t mention this.” He winked. “I’m certain there’s a noble… that would love to have me… dismissed for my ‘injury’. I’m fine.”

Holst tried to help him walk. He couldn’t allow himself to be seen relying on someone. They came to a compromise where Holst upheld a jolly conversation about nothing with an arm wrapped around Claude’s shoulder in a friendly manner, in truth steadying and holding him up. As much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t sure he could have made it otherwise.

* * *

He didn’t bother knocking on Judith’s door, he just entered. _The door should have been locked._

“Judith…!” He hobbled over to the bed, Holst beating him to it. Judith was sprawled out on top of her covers, travel clothes and boots still on.

“She’s breathing. I don’t see any wound. Judie, hey Judie! Wake up!” Judith’s brow furrowed. She rolled her head and didn’t wake. Holst lightly slapped her cheeks and shook her.

“Whu…?” Holst helped ease Judith into a sitting position. Her head bobbed a few times. “Huh? What’s…?” She scrubbed a hand over her face.

“Any nausea? Pain? Headache? H-Holst, check her for… fever or abnormal heart rate. Judith, hey… how many fingers am I holding up?”

“Holst, get your damn hands off of my head, boy. I’m fine. It’s just a hangover.”

“No fever. Judie, are you saying you drank right before the roundtable? That’s not like you.”

Judith slowly shook her head. “The… roundtable? Right. That’s right. I don’t recall drinking… sure feels like I did though.” She looked at him, squinting. “Boy, you’re the one who looks unwell. You’re almost as pale as your mother.”

He grimaced at her choice of words. “I’m fine. Don’t call me boy.”

“He has some cracked ribs.” He shot Holst a glare. “Judie was going to figure it out eventually. Trust me, it’s always better to come clean when it comes to her.”

“Listen to Holst, he learned that the hard way.” She sat up straight and looked him up and down. “I see you got dressed and ready on time, that’s good. That shirt is an awful choice though. How bad are your injuries, and what happened? No, you can tell me what happened after the roundtable, no doubt that’s soon.” She twisted to open her curtains to check the sun.

“Happy noon Judith. Heh… You slept in longer than me.” Not that he slept at all.

She boggled the midday sun. “What? _How?”_

“You must’ve been drugged. The jerky… It must’ve been the jerky… Hell, the driver was probably in on it. And you… urgh, called me paranoid for not eating th-the suspicious jerky. A time-delayed sedative.” He slipped up and exhaled a long wheeze. Judith shot him a look he didn’t appreciate.

“I need you to explain everything. Holst, go get me some water. And food. And some for the boy too.”

“And a serving for yourself.” He winked at Holst, ignoring his growling stomach. “Keep an eye on the cooks. Make sure they don’t add anything extra, if you catch my drift.”

Judith cuffed him over the back of his head, narrowly missing his throbbing bruise. “Tactless nuisance. You just implied to a different house that the Riegan cooks might be compromised.”

“R-right now I’m not trusting _any_ food.”

As soon as Holst left he let down half his guard, slumping into a chair and outright wheezing. “Claude…”

“Just… gimme… a minute.”

“How long ago were you hurt?”

“It’s been a while… So _no,_ I’m, ngh, not seeing a healer. You… _shit,_ you know I’ll be… kn-knocked out.”

Judith took his chin in her hand. He hated the way she looked at him. He jerked away. “If you would've gone and got treated right away you’d be fine! Dammit boy, you know healing is hardly effective after such a long time!” And what little effectiveness it would have would leave his body too weak to move for at least a day. There was a good reason people typically got healed as fast as possible.

“If I saw a healer… Gloucester’d find out. Y’know he would.”

“To hell with Gloucester! This meeting isn’t worth your life.”

“Hah, nope, ‘cause I’m not dying. I’m hurt, but I’m not down for the count. Y-you’ll regret underestimating me. I bet Gloucester regrets it.”

Her expression hardened into anger. “You would let yourself bleed out alone on your carpet if it meant no one knew.”

He cocked a grin. “C’mon. I’d never l-let it get that bad.”

It was impossible to catch his breath. He rested for a few minutes and still couldn’t stop wheezing. Eventually Judith got impatient and demanded his explanation. He told her about the two servants, getting knocked out, waking in the wine cellar, and relayed what his assaulter said to the best of his ability. He altered a few details to avoid the whole venom-spit thing.

“Then, swear I’m not crazy, the guy… shapeshifted when he died. His body’s still in the wine cellar.”

“Who’s body?” Holst asked, returning with three plates of food. Setting everything on the table, he tossed a water skin to Judith. Claude reigned in his urge to demand Holst take the first sip. If Judith wanted to risk being poisoned _again,_ that was on her.

“Two people that acted as Riegan staff. Holst, have you heard anything about any bodies being found?”

“Nope. The whole manor would be in a panic I’d bet. Claude, where’d you leave the bodies? We should probably take care of that.”

Claude eked out a small and painful laugh. “Y’know, when you said… you’d support me… I didn’t realize that extended to burying bodies.”

Holst shrugged. “Sounds like it was in self defense. Here kid, this is for you.” He tossed a concoction. 

He heaved a sigh (and regretted it). “Forget marrying Hilda, I might just marry you.” Judith sputtered and Holst bellowed a laugh. He eyed the bottle for signs of tampering. 

“For fuck’s sake.” Judith snatched the bottle from him and took a small sip. “There. Just because you were right about _one_ poisoned meal doesn’t mean everything is. Now start drinking.”

He cracked the best grin he could manage. “In a moment. Need to realign my ribs. A few feel out of place, don’t want them healing that way.”

“Cracked ribs my ass. You’ve been walking around with _broken_ ribs?” He hobbled up and started walking towards Judith’s washroom. She snatched his arm before he could take more than a step. “Oh no you don’t. Just where are you going?”

“I’m not undressing in front of you.”

“Sit your ass back down this instant. How the hell do you plan to do this on your own?”

“I’ve done it before.” Though he _did_ pass out. That was a few years ago.

Judith was not a woman to be trifled with. This was what he told himself as she worked to unbutton his shirt. Admittedly he wasn’t sure how he was going to manage it on his own. He _could_ do it on his own, but not in a timely manner if he wanted to make the second half of the roundtable.

“Holy _shit_ kid.” Claude flinched at Holst’s voice. He’d rather lick his wounds _alone._

“It’s not so bad. Looks worse than it is.”

“If you’re going to lie, lie believably.” Judith pressed against one of the swollen mottled red and purple splotches on his side. He clamped his jaw shut and _refused_ to make noise. _He’d had worse._ His entire side was one big mash of swollen bruising. She undid his cravat. Her eyes only paused on his neck for a moment before putting the fabric between his teeth. “Bite down on that. Try not to scream.”

 _Duh,_ he wanted to say. Instead he grunted into the fabric as she began pressing and feeling for breaks. He bore through it as she corrected the alignment. Nothing was _broken_ broken. Small mercies none of the bones were broken enough to jut into his organs. 

Eventually she stopped and pulled out the cravat, lifting the concoction to his lips. He drank.

He stared up at the ceiling as his body healed. “Thanks.” His voice came out raspy. Hopefully some water would help, he still had hours of roundtable to officiate. He zoned out for a bit. The concoction helped. Everything still hurt. Healing potions were meant for minor wounds. 

He snapped back to himself as a plate plopped onto his lap. His shirt had been buttoned without his notice. He eyed the food. He was starving. He made no move to eat.

A fork stabbed a piece of meat. Judith ate the bite, giving him a flat look. He watched her and Holst as they ate. When Judith didn’t keel over after a few minutes, he braved a bite. Then he devoured the plate.

“Hah! You really were hungry! How you feeling kid?”

“Just fine, thank you both.” He checked himself in Judith’s mirror. Most of his coloring returned to only a shade or two from normal. The marks around his neck had healed into a stark purple. His side was still tender and heavily bruised with some swelling. The radiating pain, though lesser, was a good indicator his ribs were still broken (or at least heavily cracked). The pain was manageable now though. It wasn’t good to double down on healing potions so he just needed to deal with it.

“Claude, you need to bow out of the roundtable,” Judith said.

“I can’t. You know that. It’s what Count Gloucester wants.” He side-eyed Holst. “I expect the other two Lords will also be happy to pounce on House Riegan’s absence.”

Holst’s expression soured. “Count Gloucester won’t care, but Margrave Edmund and Count Ordelia will understand. They might be stuffy old men but they aren’t unfeeling monsters.”

“If I bow out, there will be questions. People will want to know why.”

“So what? I want to know why too!”

“And if someone just so happens to find ‘evidence’ of a ‘scandal’… I'll be conveniently out of commission with healing. Won’t have a shot to preemptively defend myself. That's how these kinds of things always go.” He scrubbed at his eyes. A nap sounded _fantastic_ but he didn’t have the time. “Someone wants me out of the picture today. I already foiled the attempt. It would be a waste of the first half of the day to bow out _now_ when I’m better.” Not that better meant _good._ “Me bowing out isn’t a real option. Most of the roundtable just involves me sitting around anyways.”

Judith planted her hands on her hips. _Uh-oh._ That was the _‘you’re in trouble’_ look his mother would give him. “Claude. Someone tried to kill you. Stop being flippant about this. You are _not_ going to the roundtable.”

“If I let every little slight towards me halt my tracks I wouldn’t ever step foot out of my room.”

 _“Little slight?!_ Getting killed is not—”

“I’m not dead, Judith. I can keep going. Stop blowing this out of proportion.” He didn’t get why she was so insistent about it. 

Judith opened her mouth but thought better of whatever she was going to say. She clapped her hand on his good shoulder instead and knelt down eye-to-eye with him. “You are injured. There may be others out to hurt you further. You’re young and you think you’re invincible. You _aren’t.”_

He quirked a grin. “Obviously not. I’m more aware of that than you are. I know my limits.” He hauled himself to his feet. Standing hurt a little less than sitting (though walking was tougher). “I ought to get back to the conference room. This way Count Gloucester won’t be able to accuse me of being late.” He winked.

“Boy, you can’t—”

“I can’t?” He faked a gasp (which hurt like a real one). “Gramps didn’t say anything about putting _you_ in charge. I’m not a boy. I am the acting head of House Riegan right now. You have no power to stop me, _Lady Judith.”_

Judith held his stare. “I’m not your enemy, Claude. You’re free to ignore my advice. If you want to pass out in the middle of the roundtable, that’s on you. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Where would I go if not the roundtable?” He pushed past her. “Among four other lords of the Alliance, I’m as safe as anyone can be. Better to hide in plain sight than get knifed in my bed.”

Judith caught his elbow. “Stop. Stay here for a while longer. You should rest while you have the chance. You’re right, I can’t force you away from the roundtable. If you want to be a fool, far be it from me to stop you. Sit, take a nap, do what you want. At least rest.” She guided him over to the long couch. “This wasn’t what I meant when I told you to take your duties more seriously.”

“Guess you should’ve clarified better.” He didn’t like the way she looked at him.

“Just as stubborn as your mother,” she whispered. She cleared her throat and backed away. “I’ll fetch you some ice. Your side is still inflamed. Holst! Keep an eye on Claude for me. Make sure he doesn’t escape out a window.”

“Judith! I did that _one_ time, you can let it go already!” He glanced at Holst. He somewhat forgot about the other man. _Sloppy._

“That’s an odd way to say _seven_ times.”

“Those other six weren’t out the window.”

Judith heaved a sigh. “Sorry Holst, let me correct myself. Keep and eye on him and make sure he doesn’t jump off the roof.”

“Now this is a story I _have_ to hear about.” Holst plopped down on the couch beside him, a respectable inch between them. Judith stepped out the door, leaving him alone with Holst.

He eyed the big man. “Aren’t there more important things for you to do right now?” He wasn’t sure how he felt about Judith leaving him alone with Holst. 

Holst shrugged. “Eh… not really. After all, I’m ‘mingling’ with another noble.” He winked. “Last time I came to one of these roundtables, Margrave Edmund sucked me into an hour long conversation about taxes. Really, you’re saving me from a fate worse than death. So, roof hopping?”

“I should conserve my voice for the roundtable. I’m already pretty raspy.”

“Another time then.” Holst made a show of looking between him and the door. “Hey, since Judie’s gone for a bit, want to hear about the time she accidentally locked us both in an attic? Whatever you do, don’t let her know I told you this. For both of our sakes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holst: Better make sure this Claude fella isn't going to defile my baby sis...  
> Claude: :I *exists*  
> Holst: oh no. This kid needs a big brother STAT
> 
> Judith: Claude, tell me where you're hurt  
> Claude: Just a little booboo on my ribs lol, I'm good  
> Judith: *DOUBT*  
> Claude: Whatever that expression is, stop it. It confuses me and i don't like it.  
> Judith: ... you mean CONCERN?  
> Claude: yeah, that. It's weird, don't like it.
> 
> Btw for this fic, Judith is ~roughly 10 years older than Holst, and Holst is ~roughly 10 years older than Claude. 
> 
> For all of the speculation about what critter was going to save Claude… rip to everyone, everyone was wrong. There’s a couple of reasons why he wasn’t bailed out by any animal buddies, but the biggest one is that he’s in a city and he’s indoors/in a cellar. He also felt somewhat in control of the situation/didn’t panic (mostly).
> 
> Shoutout to my father, two-time champ of breaking his ribs. His pain is my writing gain.
> 
> Next chapter: Claude, his exasperated aunt, and his brand new big brother do lots of investigation. Reynard helps. Holst also does some reminiscing and Claude sweats.


	23. Dying to know more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Claude loving hour, time to investigate some secrets!

The rest of the roundtable proceeded ‘smoothly’. Holst informed him he did great. He assumed that meant _‘Congrats on not accidentally selling your soul to Gloucester!’_ because other than holding his own he got nothing done. If his judgment of Margrave Edmund and Count Ordelia was correct, the two of them weren’t interested in getting anything ‘real’ done while he was playing Duke for his grandfather. He knew what it looked like when people were sizing him up. He gave out only the bare minimum information on himself, remaining as evasive as possible.

Neither Judith nor Holst mentioned his slow pace as they walked towards his room. Though he was loathed to let either of them into his private space, he _really_ needed to re-bind his ribs and change out of his stuffy clothes into something easier to breathe in. As a bonus they would have a private place to speak.

When he and Holst were busy playing the most agonizing game of five-way verbal ping-pong, Judith got to do some fun investigation. She was filling him and Holst in on the nervous Daphnel driver she detained.

“I didn’t have time to get much out of him, but I made certain he knows running will be a mistake. He claims he regrets his involvement and wants to ‘repent.’”

Claude grinned and rolled his eyes. “What a generous change of heart.”

Judith clucked her tongue. “That skepticism is good, but he may very well be truthful. Whether that’s because the plot failed or due to the White Hind remains to be seen.”

Holst perked up. “White Hind?”

“It’s not a big deal.” He unlocked his door and stepped inside.

Holst whistled. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but did someone break in and trash your room?”

Judith slapped her forehead. “If I were your mother, I would whoop your ass for this mess.”

“Quiet,” he wheezed, pulling out his knife. “Holst is right, someone broke in.” 

His room was a disaster. There was no controlled chaos to the mess of books, clothes, and papers everywhere. Half of his drawers were thrown open, some of the contents dumped on the floor (granted, the mess from his medical cabinet _was_ his doing).

He swept his eyes around the room. The intruder could still be within.

Movement caught his eye. He readied his knife to throw. He pointed to the pile, motioning to his lips for silence. He took a step towards the pile. Holst clapped his shoulder and shook his head. _‘Leave this to me,’_ the general mouthed.

Holst crept forward with a deceptive amount of silence. Claude filed away the fact that Holst could be _very_ quiet despite his bulk. The pile of crumpled bed sheets and clothes shifted again. Holst got closer. Claude white-knuckled his dagger. Judith stepped between him and the pile, one hand on her rapier and the other lightly squeezing his arm.

Movement exploded from the pile. In a flash, something escaped past Holst.

“You’re a damned menace,” he wheezed to the fox sitting at his feet. Renart thumped his tail back and forth, kakking with laughter. Around Renart’s neck hung a pair of underwear.

Holst joined Renart in laughing, throwing back his head and bellowing. “Your room was ransacked alright! By a _fox!”_

He hobbled over to sit on his bed, biting back a groan. Renart circled his feet and refused to shut up. “You better not have chewed up any of my books.” He yanked his underwear off of Renart and tossed it into the mess of his room. “I should’ve left you out in the cold.”

“Is this the infamous ‘Reynard the tricky fox’ that Hilda wrote me about?”

Renart climbed onto his lap and continued to chatter up at him. Renart was living up to his original reputation from the fox-forest. He really should have named the stupid fox ‘Ice Cream’ for his penchant to scream.

Renart’s teeth were bloody.

His eyes snapped to his window. His _open_ window. The window he left locked and closed. “Someone did break in.” His drawers were _overturned._ Some of his blankets and sheets had _slashes_ torn in them. Spots of blood littered his room. “Good boy. I knew you were useful for something.”

Renart yipped and hopped off of him. He dug into a pile and pulled out— 

“Dear _Goddess,_ is that what I think it is?!”

Renart plopped the object in his lap, looking very proud. He patted Renart exactly two times. “…Good boy. Remind me not to get on your bad side.” Using one of his scattered socks, he picked up the _severed finger_ that Renart gifted him. “Look at the skin. It’s just as white as the other man that attacked me.” He slipped the black and white signet ring off the finger. On it was a strange eye-like symbol. “Either of you recognize this?”

He was met with two head shakes.

Holst peered out the window. “There’s a small blood trail. I’m going to follow it.” Holst was out his window before he could object. Not that he planned to. It worked out. Finding a four-fingered man should be easy. If anyone could take on a ghoul and win, it would be someone as strong as Holst.

Judith gingerly examined the severed finger. “When you said your assailant ‘shapeshifted’, what did that entail?”

“Don’t know _what_ that thing was, but I’m not sure it was human. It looked _close,_ sure, but there was something off about its face.” How was he supposed to explain to Judith what a _damned ghoul_ was? Those things weren’t supposed to be _real._

Renart bapped at his uninjured side, nuzzling his hip. “I don’t have any treats to reward you with. Stop that.” Renart replied by rolling onto his back and wiggling his belly. He was automatically petting that soft fur before he had a chance to think about it. “Fine. But only a little bit. I shouldn’t be rewarding you at all. There’s no way this mess was entirely caused by someone breaking in. I think _someone_ had some extra fun, didn’t you.”

Renart just squeezed his eyes shut and looked _far_ too cute. Claude wasn’t sure why he bothered resisting — Renart knew he was weak to that face. He continued to rub the fox’s belly, scritching under his chin with his other hand. It wasn’t fair for a creature to look so— 

Judith cleared her throat.

“I’m just ensuring his future loyalty through some well-earned bribes,” he muttered under his breath. “He might be an animal, but animals don’t do anything for free. There’s always a price they want you to pay.”

“Claude. You’re talking about a literal fox.”

Renart cackled. 

“And he’s a very good guard fox.” He squashed the urge to squish that fluffy face and bonk their foreheads together. “Also, counterpoint: he’s _very_ soft.”

“Stop stalling with that fox and take your shirt off. I’m re-binding your ribs and I won't take no for an answer.”

_Right._ Renart distracted him. He allowed Judith to think it was on purpose. He conceded to her and let her unbutton his shirt. Arguing with her would be pointless.

“At least see your grandfather’s physician before you go to bed tonight. This is more inflamed than it should be after that concoction you took.” She tapped him, her feather-light touch enough to have him gritting his teeth.

“Oh sure, the guy that said I should try bleaching my skin to look more ‘healthy’? Pass.”

“Boy. You won’t be able to sleep on this as is. This isn’t a time to be petty.”

_Petty. Right._ Because it was _petty_ not to trust his well-being to a man that offered to help ‘correct’ his body of ‘impurities’. Because if he was _really_ of Fódlan, obviously he wouldn’t want his body ‘tainted’. Nevermind the proposed ‘procedure’ would _definitely_ kill literally anyone. The physician seemed to know his stuff when it came to anyone whose skin was pasty. The man was convinced that Almyrans (and all other foreigners) had different body make-up that would mess with any ‘proper’ medical procedure. 

Judith didn’t know the details. She probably just thought he was being ‘overly paranoid’ again. It wasn’t like she ever had to deal with any of the stuff he did. _Must be nice._

“Ngh. T-too tight.”

She loosened the bandages some. “Tell me more about the people that attacked you. I know you, you must have rifled through their pockets.”

“I left when the man transformed. D-didn’t get the chance to check him over. His clothes changed too, ngh, do you have to be so rough? I wonder if he had a ring like this one.”

“It’s not like you to abandon something you’re curious about.”

“Forgive me for enacting some caution. I, uh, also didn’t get the chance to confirm he was _dead_ dead…”

Judith finished binding his ribs and rocked back, eyebrows raised. “You mean he might still be alive.”

“And you wonder why I’ve been so paranoid. _Yeah._ I don’t even know if he was _human,_ Judith.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, allowing himself a moment to express his pain behind his hand. The moment passed and he took his hand away from his easy grin, sitting up straight and looking Judith in the eye. “What do you say we do a little bit of extra investigating? I easily could have missed stuff in the wine cellar I woke up in.”

Judith planted her hands on her hips. “You should be resting.”

“I’m fine. All I’ve got left to do is visit Gramps and go to bed.” A bed he wouldn’t sleep in.

“And eat dinner.”

“Yes, yes, and dinner.” Dinner that he wouldn’t trust and wouldn’t eat. “Come on, I need to see if that guy has the same ring on. This could be big. Besides, those bodies shouldn’t be left to be found in a few weeks by whoever busts down that locked door. I know my limits, Judith. It’s just a little bit of walking.”

Judith threw up her hands. “If you’re this stubborn, your ribs can’t be hurting too much.” It helped that she was underestimating his pain tolerance.

It wasn’t easy to pester Judith to do _anything,_ but for once he managed it. Only because Judith didn’t know which exact cellar he meant. Also because Judith _knew_ he’d go on his own if they didn’t go now. He _really_ didn’t want to go on his own, _just in case_ that guy’s corpse got up. Just in case it really _was_ a ghoul.

He relocked his window and officially left Renart in charge of guarding his room. The fox was ecstatic with his promotion, pouncing on an errant pillow. He threw on his academy outfit and snapped his collar closed, hiding the bruises on his neck.

The slow walk to the cellar gave him ample time to spin his wheels about the ghoul. He had Judith with him though. She wouldn’t let some creature eat him. Vish would protect him too. Beyond that, he could still protect himself. 

He grinned at Judith as he approached the door, twirling the key on his finger. “So what are we going to do with the bodies anyways?” He slipped the key into the door. Following a healthy habit of caution, he pressed his ear to the door before unlocking anything.

“We have a few options.”

_Something was chewing._

He couldn’t maintain his grin. In a rush all the blood drained from his face. He yanked the key out of the keyhole, leaving the door locked. “Something is down there,” he barely whispered. “Something is eating. _Noisily.”_ He left the _corpse-eater_ with a fresh _corpse_ to eat. It must be eating the woman.

“The hell?”

_“Sh!”_

Judith put her ear up to the door. He white knuckled is dagger. Some stories said ghouls were unnaturally strong. What if it heard them? Could it break down the door?

Judith pulled away, settling a hand on his (good) shoulder. “Easy, boy. Whatever your mind is spinning, stop it. It could be anything.”

“It’s a damned _corpse-eater_ Judith! It said it wanted my _blood._ It would’ve _eaten_ me.”

Judith pulled the key from his shaking fingers. “Calm down. Stay here. I’ll check. I can handle someone half-dead.”

“Wait, no, don’t!”

Judith slid the key in the lock and turned it. The sound of the mechanism going _click_ ran a chill through his body. The door listed open just a crack.

_Gnawing, chewing, smacking, tearing. Shuffling, squeaking, skittering._ Judith peered inside. She inhaled sharply and slammed the door shut. She paled.

“Lock it! Quick!”

She shook her head. “Your corpse is still dead, Claude. It’s rats. A lot of rats.”

_“Rats?”_ He switched places with her, peeking the door open.

The wine cellar was how he remembered it. His manicals were still scattered on the floor. The dead woman was in the corner, untouched. The ghoul was gone. In his place was a mass of rats. Claude had no issue with rats. Rats could be rather cute.

This was not cute. Rats swarmed and devoured the corpse. What little he could see underneath all the rodents was mere bone. He’d never seen anything like it. He eased the door shut and locked it, pocketing the key. He cleared his throat, willing his hands to stop shaking. “That guy is _really_ dead now.” Maybe this was why Edelgard had a fear of rodents. He was going to be hearing that noise in his nightmares.

“What did you _do_ to him?” Judith clutched his arm, maneuvering herself between him and the door.

“Me? I just strangled him! I don’t have a clue why there are _rats_ everywhere!”

“What’s with strange events involving animals around you?” Judith ran a hand down her face. “Okay. That’s one way to get rid of a body.” 

“Guess that’s a bust on checking for a ring.” He could try… _Nope._ He was _not_ going in there. Animals _loved_ to swarm him. _Nope, nope, nope._

* * *

They met with Holst in front of a locked closet door. 

“Did you catch anyone?”

Holst shook his head. “The blood trail ended abruptly. I think the guy got picked up by a flyer. Or maybe someone warped him. Hey, kid, take a seat, you’re looking pale again.”

_Yeah, he felt lightheaded alright._ “I’m fine, don’t call me kid. _Great._ So we've got a loose end.” He would love to pace if his ribs weren’t screaming at him.

“Judie, you’re looking pale too. Did something happen?”

“Nothing, don’t worry about it.” She jerked her thumb to the door in front of them. “We’ve got more important things. The guy who drugged me is here. He’s a Daphnel man, one of my own.” She shot him an apologetic look. “Expect people to talk about the White Hind, Claude. I didn’t catch him before he had a chance to gossip.”

“That’s the second time you’ve mentioned a White Hind.” Holst looked between the two of them. “You’re not saying you two saw one, are you? That’s pretty rare.”

He side-eyed Judith. What was he supposed to say? He couldn’t allow Holst to realize how ignorant he was. He needed to start asking more questions in the Golden Deer ‘storytime’ sessions, his pride and caution be damned. Lorenz was, as much as it pained him to admit it, correct. Leicester folktales held more importance than he realized. This was a blindspot he _needed_ to fill.

“I’m sure you’ll hear plenty of whispers about it in the upcoming weeks. I still barely believe it and I was there. Not _a_ White Hind. We saw _the_ White Hind and her two fawns. One white, one gold.”

“It was brownish, not gold.”

Holst didn’t seem to hear him, instead gaping at Judith. “You’re _kidding._ A White Hind is one thing, but you saw _THE_ White Hind?”

“Swear to the Goddess I’m serious. Her fawns crawled in Claude’s lap and demanded his attention. The hind downright _mothered_ him. She let him eat their apples and everything. Goddess above, she presented him with _food. Golden pears._ I still can’t believe it.”

“No way. Judie, I’m not a gullible kid anymore.” Holst swiveled to gape at him. “You _touched_ the White Hind? And _ate_ her food?”

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s not a big deal. They’re just deer.”

“You’re serious. You _really_ ate apples from a deer shrine. What was worth getting cursed?”

_Cursed?_ “See, I hadn’t eaten in a really long time, and the deer didn’t mind! It was just a few apples!” He paused to cough, doubling over against the wall. He regretted raising his voice. Judith held him steady.

“Huh. Makes you wonder if the deer curse caused your injury, or if the deer blessing saved you from something worse.”

He cleared his throat. If anything ‘cursed’ him, it was all those candles he had to blow out on his birthday. “Whatever scheme is going on, it’s been in motion before I stepped into that carriage. My survival wasn’t some _blessing_ or dumb luck. I know what I’m doing.”

“Wasn’t insulting your skill, Claude.” Holst examined him _far_ too closely. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised. You appeared out of nowhere like some kind of fairytale and that was just the start. You’re something else, kid.” Holst tapped his chin, narrowing his eyes. “I suppose the old stories about the White Hind being the ghost of a prematurely slain Golden Doe doesn’t hold up if you physically touched her… And the White Hind, with two fawns…” Something in Holst’s eyes sharpened on him. “Hm… an odd coincidence…”

“Coincidence?” He did _not_ like the way Holst silently examined him. He shot Judith a look, but she seemed just as confused as him.

“Nevermind, it’s nothing. So Judie, you think your traitor’s change of heart is related.”

“It makes sense. I’m not superstitious, but that display had _me_ on edge. Nothing like a sacred omen appearing to make someone change their mind.” He didn’t allow his lips to twist downward. _More omens._ He couldn’t escape them. Not back in Almyra and not here either.

“I don’t see how this has to do with anything. Let’s talk to the driver already.”

“All three of you witnessed the White Hind…” Holst ignored him and spoke to Judith. “I can’t say I fully believe in the old stories, but if _you’re_ serious about this Judie, I’ll listen. You’re the biggest skeptic I know.”

Judith squeezed his good shoulder. Ever since the rat ordeal, she hadn’t let go of him. She lowered her voice. “The White Hind fed him and tried to lull him to sleep. She nearly succeeded too. She wasn’t a natural deer Holst, she would have carried him away. He was falling asleep on her.”

_“Judith!”_ he hissed through his teeth. He _knew_ he should’ve done a better job of resisting temptation. She was _never_ going to let him live this down. If he wasn’t using her to stand steady, he would have done something to shut her up.

“He’s a bit old to be spirited away by deer. You’re sure—” 

“I know what I saw, brat. The deer had him enchanted. I couldn’t keep his attention on me. And I know you haven’t known Claude long, but he _ate_ what a random stranger, an _animal,_ gave him without a second thought.”

“Judith, shut up, that’s not what happened at all!” The heat radiating from his cheeks _better_ not be visible. “It was a deer, a deer’s not going to stick a razor in a pear or something.”

She squeezed his shoulder harder. “Holst, the White Hind gifted him two golden pears. She _bowed_ to him. She rubbed her scent all over him, she even _groomed him._ If that deer wasn’t buttering him up to steal away, I don’t know _what_ was happening.”

“It was a _yellow pear,_ for the last time. Pale yellow, not gold at all. Judith, it was just a _deer._ I wouldn’t be kidnapped by a _deer!”_

She finally turned to him. “Oh? Answer me this then, boy: why were you taking a nap on her if _not_ magic?”

He looked away from her. “I wasn’t. It was just a little break…” Judith thought it was _deer magic._ He could at least pat himself on the back for not letting his secret weakness out. It was ridiculous that she would go to _magic_ before assuming he was a sap. It worked out. He wasn’t going to correct her.

Judith scrubbed her freehand through her hair. “Just keep an eye out, Holst. You know what this kind of sighting means. If the stories are to be believed…”

Holst nodded. “Never thought I’d see the day _you_ were advising me based off of an old myth, but I can’t blame you. You take care too. You saw it, you know what’ll happen if it dies.”

_“Everyone_ will be in deep shit if it dies.”

“Still. You know what they say.”

_No. No, he didn’t have a clue!_ He wanted to throttle Judith to get some answers. She _knew_ he didn’t know! But he couldn’t ask with Holst _right_ there. Not when whatever this was apparently was known by everyone. 

“Now, let’s see this traitor of mine.” Of course _now_ they were moving on. He had more questions than ever! He was going to pester every single tiny secret out of Judith next chance they were alone.

They entered the room.

“Goddess dammit all!”

The driver’s throat was slit.

“It really is one of _those_ sort of days.” Claude eyed the small room for signs of an assassin. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. He looked up for good measure. Confident they were alone, he hobbled over to examine the body. Judith _still_ wasn’t letting go of him. If anything, she was more glued to his side now. “At least this one didn’t turn white.”

He found no ring. What he _did_ find was an incriminating letter from Gloucester. It was filled with dehumanizing language about him and his assumed parentage, predictably. To give the dead man credit, the letter said nothing about _killing_ him. The outlined plan was to drug him so he would oversleep and get caught in bed with both a man and a married woman. The resulting scandal for someone like Claude could have been enough to delegitimize him. 

“So it really was Count Gloucester… I wish I was shocked,” Holst said. “He was surprised when you showed up to the meeting this morning.”

He folded the letter and tucked it into a pocket. “Seems convenient, doesn’t it? The most likely suspect, with a _convenient_ letter pinning suspicion? He was likely involved, but there’s more at play here. I’m sure of it.” He left it at that. He needed to think more. He couldn’t fully trust Holst either.

“The boy’s right.” Judith and Holst exchanged a long, silent look. He cleared his throat.

Holst traced above the driver’s wound. “All our talk about superstition, then this happens? You’re _sure_ he saw the deer too?”

“He did.”

“And now he’s dead. Did he attack the White Hind? Or are the stories wrong?”

He _begged_ Judith with his eyes. She pinched her brow. “The White Hind is said to take in the Golden Doe’s fawns if she is killed before her time. It’s said that seeing the White Hind means great change is on the horizon. It’s a breaking of the cycle. Great change is rarely weathered without hardship. The White Hind supposedly guarantees whoever sees her will survive the upcoming change.”

Holst nodded. “Unless that person attacks the White Hind. Or threatens her. Or threatens her fawns. That’s an automatic guaranteed death.”

“Of course.” Claude pretended he already knew that. “Which is why it’s bad to pull a weapon on a White Hind, I know that.” Judith’s scolding made more sense now. “Hold on, Judith, you were one step from stabbing the deer.”

Judith’s lips thinned. “Can it, boy. I wasn’t about to let you be kidnapped, regardless of the consequences.”

Holst gasped. “Judie, you didn’t…!”

She shook her head. “It didn’t come down to it.”

Claude looked away, conflicting feelings churning in his gut. He squirmed a bit in Judith’s grip. _There was no way Judith would trade her life for his._ “It’s all just superstition anyways. Obviously it’s not true.” He gestured at the dead man.

Judith finally let go of him with a parting pat. “I’ve got a corpse of mine to deal with. As soon as that’s done, I’ll secure you a _trusted_ transport for the morning, boy. I’ll be going with you back to Garreg Mach.”

“Don’t call me ‘boy’. I can take care of myself.”

“You can barely breathe by yourself, _boy._ Stop being stubborn. Holst, escort the boy to Duke Riegan for me. I don’t want him alone while we’ve got a rat on the loose.” She grimaced. “Poor choice of wording.”

She ruffled his hair. He didn’t give her the satisfaction of letting it get to him. “I can walk across the estate _on my own.”_

“Sure you can, kid!” Holst wrapped an arm around his shoulder and ushered him out of the room. “Doesn’t hurt to be cautious though. Don’t you think?”

He literally spent the day officiating the roundtable, and he was still being treated like a kid. What did it take to be treated like a man around this place? He could at least take solace in the fact that Judith sometimes called Holst ‘brat’ too. “It’s your time to waste.”

“Nah, I don’t think so.” The hallways were all empty. It was dinner hour. Just him and Holst. “Hey. How are you really holding up? Don’t worry so much about a tough front.”

“I’m fine.”

“Right, of course, that kind of wheezing is normal.”

He couldn’t deflect with a laugh, so he just smiled. “I’m still _moving,_ I’m _alive._ That’s what matters.”

“Easy, easy. You’ve had a rough day. Not sure I’d be doing so hot if I was in your shoes. No shame in admitting it hurts.”

“Never said it doesn’t hurt. I’m fine though.”

“Lean on me. Save your strength.”

He squeezed his eyes shut, thumbing his dagger in his pocket. “If you insist.” If it came down to it, he could protect himself. That was what mattered. It helped to lean his good side against Holst. It helped _a lot._ They walked for a time in silence only punctuated by his wheezing.

“Judith’s really taken you under her wing. She didn’t tell you what it means for the White Hind to die, did she?”

He side-eyed Holst. “I’m not ignorant of the stories.”

Holst nodded. “Not saying you are. I get where she’s coming from. If my little Hilda was in the same situation, I wouldn’t hesitate to attack the White Hind. Not a logical decision, I’m aware. Most people don’t have anyone they care about so much they’re willing to condemn a continent to languish without the sun or moon.”

“Who said anything about the…” _right,_ the fawns were supposed to ‘represent’ the sun and moon. It couldn’t be literal though.

“Whether that means the light goes out in the world or if it’s metaphorical about endless war and winter, it’s not a fate many are willing to temp. The fawns won’t survive without a mother. Be it their birthmother the Golden Doe or their adopted mother the White Hind, they need someone to guide them.” Holst gave a tiny shrug. “Eh, you don’t want to listen to me ramble about things you already know.”

“Who’s to say the white hind isn’t their birth mother? Makes more sense that a _white_ deer, not a golden deer, would birth another white fawn.”

“It’s just how the stories go. Some say the White Hind is dead, and dead can’t give birth.” For a single heartbeat Holst’s expression turned angry. It vanished as fast as it came. “You’d be a better judge of that than the stories though. It’s consistent in stories that the White Hind can’t birth fawns of her own. It’s why she accepts desperate children as her own.”

_That made even less sense._ Stories were stories. That the people of Leicester took these stories so literally baffled him. “So Judith thinks I’m some ‘desperate child’ ripe to be kidnapped.”

“She at least thought the deer saw you as one.” Holst shrugged. “Don’t hold it against her. Who knows, maybe the deer just happened to smell something nice on your jacket and took a liking to you.”

_“Exactly.”_

“After all, it’s said a White Hind only takes in those who have no home to return to. For lost children she guides them back to their family. For children with no family to guide to, she takes in as her own and turns them into deer. Since she can’t have children of her own…”

As much as Claude wanted to keep questioning, he was struggling to catch his breath. He _refused_ to ask Holst to go any slower than their current snail pace.

“How is Tiana?”

The statement was so out of nowhere that he locked up. He stumbled and nearly fell flat on his face. It was only Holst’s steady hand that saved him from slamming down onto his ribs. Even as it was, his sharp inhale triggered a coughing fit. By the time he got control of his heaving lungs, unshed tears stung at the corner of his eyes from the intensity.

“Guess I could’ve led up to that, huh.”

He shook his head, trying to clear his throat. “B-bad timing. Wh-what was your question again?”

“I’ve been wondering if you were Godfrey’s or Tiana’s. Really, I knew as soon as I saw you this morning. You’re the spitting image of her.”

_Shit,_ he did _not_ want to have this conversation now. _Or ever._ “I was born to an offshoot of House Riegan. When my crest mani—”

He was interrupted by Holst’s dismissive wave and his own cough. “That might work on anyone who didn’t know her. Tiana and Judith always got stuck keeping an eye on us brats while all the adults were in session here in this very manor. More often than not it was just me and Tiana. Riegan and Goneril have been close for a long time. From when I was a toddler to the day she vanished, I saw her at least once a month. She was my big sister in all but blood. You hold a dagger like she did, you know.”

_Mama and Holst shared a history._ It would’ve been nice if she’d warned him. He eyed the hallway. Holst was the one guiding him to his grandfather’s room, just as the general effortlessly navigated to Judith's guest room earlier. Holst knew the manor better than him. He swallowed thickly. “Only so many ways to hold a dagger. Plenty of people share the same style.”

“Look, I’m not here to argue. I’m sure you have good reason to deny what I’m saying.” Holst heaved a sigh. “Once in a, er, well-meaning and tasteless prank on my part, most of Tiana’s hair got chopped off. When you grit your teeth, you look exactly like her with short hair. Just scrawnier, tanner, with brown hair. You can trust I won’t go around gossiping about this. I owe her that much at least. Far more, really.”

“Owe her? For what?”

“I’ll tell you if you do me a small favor.”

_Great._ “Depends on what it is.”

“Nothing too demanding. Next time you see her, I want you to tell her that I’m sorry.” Holst stopped walking, turning to look down at him. He’d only known Holst for a day but the man wasn’t good at lying. The vivid regret chiseled into his expression could be nothing but genuine. “A bit before she left, I learned a secret of hers. I said some horrible things to her. I wasn’t the only one to say them, and I was just a kid. I didn’t understand back then. I do now, and I’m sorry. Realistically, it’s arrogant to think it was my words and attitude that drove her away. Still. Next time you speak with her, please tell _Tiana_ that I respect _her_ for who _she_ is, and that I’m sorry I didn’t always.”

“If I happen to meet a Tiana, I’ll pass along your message. That’s all I can promise.”

“It’s all I ask. You don’t have to tell me, but I hope she found happiness. Whatever your history is, Claude, you grew up well. I’m sure your mother is proud of you.”

“Uh…huh. Sure. Thanks?”

Holst ushered him back into walking. “I can hear you thinking. Don’t worry so much. I don’t know where Tiana went, but I have my guesses. It’s a toss up in my head whether she went to Morfis or Almyra.” _He didn’t flinch, didn’t stumble, didn’t reveal anything. His heart pounded._ “Maybe she went to Kupala. Regardless, I want you to know I don’t care. _Yes,_ even if that place happens to be Almyra. Character is what really matters, not—” 

“—the place of one’s birth. You wrote that to Hilda.”

Holst beamed. “That I did! I’m proud that she shared my wisdom!”

His shoulders slumped and he leaned fully against Holst. Maybe it was the fatigue biting into his willpower. Maybe it was the pain. Maybe it was the thousand of things buzzing through his brain all demanding his attention. Whatever it was, something in him allowed him to let slip a tiny whisper. “Sure wish she took it to heart.”

“She hasn’t said as much, but she really thinks the world of you. She might not listen to her big brother, but she listens to you. She _will_ listen to you if you tell her.”

Just as fast as his grin slipped away he brought it back to shield himself. “Tell her what? Hah, you should hear her when I try to get her to do her work.”

Holst carefully patted his good side, arm protectively wrapped around him.

* * *

Gramps propped himself up with a pillow. “Spit it out, anklebiter. You sell your soul to Gloucester or not?”

Fooling his grandfather was the tricky part. Maybe it was the progression of this neverending day, but the pain was getting worse. He heaved a tiny huff of a laugh and regretted even that much. “Not today. I held my own. Holst seems to like me, that helped. How about you? You better not be thinking about selling your own soul.”

“Pah, damned brat. No respect. It’s just a seasonal cough.” Gramps paused to cough. “Speak up, I can hardly hear your whispers. What tricks did Gloucester try? I know that scoundrel tried something.”

“Oh, this and that. He wasn’t hard to outwit.” _By the skin of his teeth._ Count Gloucester had been in Leicester politics for decades. He underestimated Claude though. Almyran politics weren’t Fódlan politics but they were close enough where it counted. 

“A single day at the table and you look like death warmed over.” Gramps paused, squinting at him. “Are you sick, anklebiter?”

He sat up straight and pulled together his healthiest look. Unfortunately, ‘sitting up straight’ twinged one of his ribs _just_ right. It took all his willpower to keep his face impassive and hold back a cough. Silence stretched. If he opened his mouth, he was going to cough. If he started coughing, he wasn’t going to stop. 

“Let’s hear it, brat. What trouble did you get into this time?”

The gruff tone was nostalgic of his mother. He finally managed to speak without letting out a cough. “I’m fine. Nothing I can’t handle.”

“If that’s the best lie you can spin, it’s a miracle you survived today.”

“Hah, it was nothing. I was expecting trouble regardless. Something always crops up this time of year.”

Gramps narrowed his eyes. “And _what_ exactly is the reason behind that? Reckless brat. One day you will stick your neck through a noose out of that damned curiosity of yours.”

“Not without the proper precautions first.”

“Still cheeky as ever. It’s a wonder that mouth hasn’t brought your end. So, little Holst took a liking to you? Good, good, I expected as much.”

_“Little_ Holst? Not sure we’re talking about the same man.” He cleared his throat. “Why wasn’t I informed about Holst’s history with my mother? He brought her up.”

Gramps eyed him in a familiar way. Like he was looking at the ghost of Godfrey or Tiana, not at _Claude._ “You look so much like her.”

He grit his teeth. _‘You look exactly like the king; just pale, green-eyed, and runty. You look exactly like the queen; just tan, brown-haired, and runty.’_ No one ever said he looked like _himself._ Not unless they were insulting him.

Gramps went silent. Old green eyes drifted past his shoulder, staring off into days long gone. “Tiana was a very different person in her youth.” Again he was silent for a time. “No… I suppose she was _always_ the same Tiana. Hmph. I supported her, but begrudgingly. It wasn’t the only reason she left, but I thought she would… hmph. It no longer matters. She made her choice.”

“And this has to do with Holst…?”

“Tiana covered her tracks, but a handful of individuals knew her as a different person. Someone told Holst of her past and he took it poorly. I was never told the whole story.”

“‘Covered her tracks’? When she left Leicester?”

“No. When she left, that was not the first time she faked her death.” A bitter-sweet smile curled the old man’s lips. “She wasn’t even half your years the first time. That one was a cunning child. Together with Godfrey, those two made her disappearance seamless. Godfrey convinced me to go along with ‘her return’ as my daughter. That boy even got his hands on some flawlessly forged documents. I never learned how he managed that. Godfrey always did accept her, always loved her without reservations… I should have done better. She always did want a fresh start…”

Mama never talked much about her family. In 16 years, the most he got out of her was that Gramps was stubborn and set in his ways. She never talked about Godfrey. Growing up, he’d gotten a package or two from the man. Foreign candies, random trinkets, or the occasional book. He never knew his uncle, but the man had given him a false impression that all of Fódlan was kind.

Thinking back on it, when mama got the letter from Gramps that began his own journey to Fódlan, she’d vanished for a full day. It never occurred to him that she might have been mourning. Mama was… _mama._ She was strong. She didn’t _do_ grief.

Gramps chuckled, his eyes cloudy. “Those two. Couldn’t have been more different. Godfrey hid it from me, but I know he sent a letter to her once a year. Wasn’t safe to write more. If I’d swallowed my pride… No, it… doesn’t matter…” 

He couldn’t ask for any elaboration. His lungs spasmed and he was thrown into a coughing fit.

“Damned brat. Stop distracting me. You’re hurt.”

He didn’t want to stress Gramps any more than necessary. Unfortunately, Claude couldn’t hide his state. “N-nothing serious. It’s all taken care of.”

“Blasted anklebiter.” Gramps shoved himself out of bed, snatching Claude’s chin and laying a hand on his forehead. “Out with it. Tell me what’s wrong.”

He shook his head. “H-hey now, you’re the sick one. Lay back dow—” _More coughing._

“Pah, it’s a minor illness. Now _the truth,_ brat. My patience is not endless. _Where are you hurt?”_

He hated that tone of voice. It was mama’s _‘you are two seconds from being punished, Khalid, out with it’_ tone. “Cracked ribs,” he mumbled to the floor. “It’s not bad.”

“Must not be too cracked, as speaking the truth pains you more than your ribs. Up, anklebiter, stand up.” He allowed Gramps to guide him to sit on the bed, a handful of fluffy pillows supporting his back. He bit the inside of his cheek as his body reminded him he was _exhausted_ and that pillows were damned comfortable. “Listen to that. Peace and quiet from your blasted wheezing. Was it so hard to speak plainly for once in your life?”

“Look, don’t worry about—”

“Is _that_ your concern?” There weren’t many people that could cow him with a mere look. Gramps, unfortunately, was one of those people. If Judith hadn’t made him feel like a kid enough today, Gramps made him feel like he was five, caught sneaking figs out to horses again. “I’m not so old as to blow over at a spec of bad news. Now you will _inform me_ of who harmed my grandson.”

He focused on the wooden bedpost instead of Gramps. “Hey, you should lay back down. You’re sick, you shouldn’t be—”

_“Claude.”_

He pressed his lips together, digging in his heels. “Lay back down and I’ll tell you what I know.”

“Hmph. You fret far too much.” Gramps complied, laying down on the other side of the bed. He helped Gramps pull the covers back over himself. The old man shot him a deadly glare for that. _Sure,_ Gramps probably could have done it himself. Watching old hands shake as they slowly pulled the covers up was a waste of time when he could do it for Gramps in a fraction of the time.

“Hold your end of the bargain, anklebiter.”

He launched into an edited version of his experience. He left out the gruesome and unnecessary details, glossing over the extent of the harm to his person. As he finished, he pulled out the ring with the strange symbol and the letter they found on the dead driver.

“Have you ever seen this symbol? Or have you ever heard of people shapeshifting into others? Because that might be something to watch out for. On that note, don’t trust anyone with only four-fingers.”

Gramps took the ring and brought it close to his face, squinting. All at once his face drained pale (and for a heartstopping second, Claude feared his grandfather was turning into a ghoul).

“You are certain this is from the people that attacked you?” The ring shook in his hands.

“At least one of them, sure. You recognize it? I’m not sure they were human. Three out of the four are dead. Two of which stayed human when they died. I think it might be more than one faction—”

_“Khalid.”_ His jaw clicked shut. Gramps _never_ called him by that name. “You must tell me. Are they targeting _you?_ Or is this a case of sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong? You _will_ answer me honestly.”

He gulped. “I don’t think they were trying to kill me, at least not until I resisted. Then one of them… er, threatened to eat me. That was the white-skinned creature that I killed.” 

“You must listen to me. Do not look into this group. Do not make yourself a target.”

“I’m _always_ a target.”

“Do not interrupt me!” Gramps shouted. Gramps raised his voice at times, but he never _shouted._ “You listen here. You listen well. This is the organization that caught your uncle’s eye a month before he died.”

“I thought Count Gloucester—”

“Use your damned head, boy, it’s on your neck for a reason!” Gramps paused to hack up a lung. “Gloucester was involved, yes. Gloucester profited. Gloucester was also the scapegoat for the real instigator.” He raised the ring up. “There is rumor of an organization in the shadows controlling the demonic beasts that roam Leicester. It is more than mere rumor. You will _not_ look into them. I cannot lose another heir. I cannot lose another child.”

“So you want me to be blind to this threat! That’s a great way for me to die.”

“Claude. If they know you know, they will kill you. You will not survive. _Do you understand?_ You were _lucky_ this time.”

“Luck had nothing to do with it.” He couldn’t argue further. He had to cough.

Gramps sighed, the fight leaving his bones. He closed his eyes. “Who knows of this?”

“Only Judith and Holst.”

“Good. Keep it quiet. I will speak to them myself.” Gramps rested the ring on his table. “Leave this concern to the adults. You must focus on your education.”

“Very well, sir.”

“Brat. You may be 18, but you do not count as ‘an adult’ until the day you act like one.” Gramps shook his head. “Just do your damned foolhardy research in secret.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Who said I turned 18?”

Gramps gave him the _driest_ look he’d seen from the man (which was saying something). _“Your mother._ 17 years ago. It took her half a year to send the damned letter and another half year to get to me. She told me of your birth. Her miracle child. It was the only letter she sent me before Godfrey’s death.” His dry look fell back into his reminiscing one. “I expected her to be smug, to rub it in my face. Your birth should have been impossible, but I suppose my view was too limited…”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He fisted into the sheets. “Just because my father is Almyran doesn’t make him any less human than people of Fódlan. There’s nothing impossible about their union.”

Gramps snapped back to the present. He slowly shook his head. “It’s not that. I suppose she never told you. I don’t blame her. It’s not my place to say. Ask your mother for the details. In short, she shouldn’t have been able to carry a child at all. It never occurred to me that could change… never occurred to me she would run away. I’ve learned my scope is limited. Fódlan may be ignorant of magic to correct what she needed, but I suppose Almyra is not.”

Something twisted in his chest (aside from his ribs). “You can’t just leave it at that. What do you mean?” He grew up with unending rumors about his birth. Rumors about _everything_ to do with him really, but his birth was included in that. _Omen this, Unnatural that. The queen stole a baby, the queen summoned a demon. The queen never showed, the queen had no milk. Only the king was present when the queen gave birth. The boy was too old to be a newborn. The demon was born crawling. The baby never acted right._ He was lucky he looked like a perfect mix of his parents, if otherwise scrawny in comparison (a very unfair comparison). Most (but not all) speculation dropped when people saw him with his parents. As far as _he_ knew, there wasn’t any reason mama couldn’t carry a child. 

“I _am_ my mother’s son.” It was one thing for strangers to craft rumors to smear his reputation. But Gramps… 

“Clearly. From the day I first saw you, _that_ has never been in doubt.” Gramps coughed more, his posture wilting further. _Gramps was tired._ “I am not so old as to _forget_ my only grandson’s birthday.”

He bit his tongue. He _needed_ answers. But… Gramps was tired. He was sick. For now, he let it go. “Well I didn’t know mama told you! And you didn’t do anything about it last year…”

“Because you hate your birthday.” Gramps shot him a withering glare. He looked away. “You aren’t as subtle as you think. Did you forget that last year on your birthday the chefs served pheasant roast with that wretched sweet sauce you love? I didn’t eat that gruel for the fun of it.”

He cleared his throat. “I guess the new bow I just so happened to get a few days after was my birthday gift then…?”

“For such a sharp lad, you can be damned dense at times.” 

He made the mistake of sighing. He wasn’t successful at hiding the pain this time. “Do you have something for me this year, then?”

“Hmph. I _was_ going to let you hold Failnaught.”

“What?! _Really?! Failn—nrk._ O-ow.”

“That will have to wait. You aren’t well enough to string a child’s bow.”

“N-no, I’m, urgh, I’m good! I can… c-can do it…”

Gramps just glared at him.

He hung his head. “This is so unfair. You can’t just dangle that in front of me and steal it away.”

“Don’t get injured next time. So: is there anything you want?”

“Want? For my birthday…?”

“No, for mother’s day. Stop wasting both of our time.”

He chewed the inside of his lip. One thing stuck out. It would take some careful negotiation on his part, but Gramps was tired… “There is something…”

* * *

It hurt. Of course it hurt. The pain radiated from his chest out through his entire body. 

He grinned ear to ear. It was worth it. _So worth it._ Best birthday gift ever! 

_“I can’t spend another night here, Gramps. The one that broke into my room is still out there. I need to be back at Garreg Mach.”_

_“It’s too dangerous to travel the roads at night.”_

_“Agreed. I don’t intend to travel by_ road.”

He couldn’t whoop like he wanted. He just threw back his head and let the wind sweep through his hair. It was enough. _It was everything._

The wyvern he rode on (named Hubris) cooed up to him. He smoothed his hand between his antlers. The wyvern was flying slow and careful. As much as Claude wanted to do tricks and fly fast, being jostled _hurt._ Despite (supposedly) being the most temperamental wyvern housed in Derdriu, Hubris was a compassionate fella. He knew Hubris was the right wyvern to choose.

Convincing Gramps hadn’t been easy. It worked out well that Gramps didn’t know the full extent of his injuries. He knew to expect a scathing letter from the old man in a few days. Judith would no doubt tattle on him. If he was lucky, Gramps would bear the brunt of Judith’s anger. She was going to be _pissed_ at him for sneaking away.

Gramps was _really_ going to kill him for swiping that mysterious ring back though. Or maybe the old man expected him to take it. His fault for leaving it on the bedside table in perfect swiping-distance.

The endless night sky shimmered above him. Dark shapes of forests, mountains, and villages peppered the land below him. 

“I think I love you.” His whisper was lost to the wind, but it was true. He _missed_ riding wyverns like a missing limb. He missed the sky. Soothing this ache was worth aggravating his other aches.

The cold air numbed him in what was both good and bad. It was excellent for his swollen ribs. Less excellent for the rest of him freezing to bits. At least he had Renart, tucked securely in his jacket. That fluffy warmth was _also_ his current One True Love (just behind Hubris).

His musing was cut again by another coughing fit. Hubris cooed at him more over the wind. He just patted Hubris and rode out the coughing. He was tied onto the saddle, so even if he slipped he couldn’t fall.

_Worth it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: heh im so sneaky. Holst doesn't suspect a thing  
> Holst, aware of everything: yep, you sure got me kid. I'm just gonna talk about this thing you CLEARLY know, for no reason... 
> 
> Judith: I'm willing to get myself killed and plunge Fodlan into a horrible curse to save my boy, what of it?  
> Claude: ???  
> Holst: That's fair, very relatable
> 
> Claude: Right, so Fodlan's religion is that of the Church of Seiros.  
> Leicester: *Eastern Church machine broke*  
> Claude: Wait, fr?? In that case, FUCK THE GO-  
> Leicester: >:( Not _that_ broken, you Goddessless heathen.
> 
> Holst & Judith: Where's Claude...?  
> Oswald: He left for the wyvern stables. He didn't stop to say goodbye?  
> Holst: Wha- but- I was standing outside the door!  
> Oswald: He proved he was well enough to fly by climbing out the window
> 
> Me @ start of chap: Grandpa Oswald is a stern, racist old curmudgeon who only accepts Claude as heir because there's literally no one else. Godfrey who? Irrelevant.  
> me @ end of chap: Grandpa Oswald loves his funky lil grandson, even if the brat gets on his nerves sometimes. Godfrey and Tiana were super close. Godfrey's closet is full of a bunch of hidden Khalid baby pics. Sometimes Khalid got gifts from the crazy weird uncle on his mom's side, and none of the gifts were ever trapped? What a weirdo.
> 
> Next Chapter: Return to Garreg Mach


	24. Breathless Anticipation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hurt/comfort the chapter. Claude faces the consequences from his friends.
> 
> Some internalized trauma, culture clashing, and just... a lot of messy emotions. This one's a bit of a heavy chapter folks (though it ends relatively well).

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Renart bolted out of his jacket and darted away. “Tired of me already?” He shook his head at the retreating bushy tail. As annoying as the fox could be, he was glad Renart snuck along on his trip. He rubbed at his sore throat. He missed the fluffy warmth already.

Hubris nosed his cheek. “Aww, you’re gonna hate me, but I don’t have any treats. Sorry pal.” He did his best to satiate the wyvern with some well-placed scritches. Hubris snuggled his face into Claude’s arms, surprisingly gentle for a wyvern. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised. Wyverns could be very gentle when they put the effort in.

He bit his lip to stop himself from making any stupid promises. Like _‘I’ll come visit you next time I’m in Derdriu,'_ or some other thing he couldn’t assure he had time for. If he visited every animal that caught his heart, he’d never get anything done.

“You should get going bud. I’m sure there’ll be a nice warm meal ready for you back home.” If Derdriu was any further away, Claude would insist the wyvern spend the night in Garreg Mach’s aerie. If that happened though, the Garreg Mach wyverns would gossip, and Hubris would be told Claude was ‘claimed’, and then Hubris would never let him ride again. Worse, Hubris might spread that information to the wyverns at Derdriu. Wyverns really loved their gossip and they never forgot a rider. “You better tell everyone I’m a treat to fly with.” He dared a little kiss on the wyvern’s snout. It took more coaxing on his part but soon enough the wyvern was up and flying away. He already missed flying.

All it took was one step for his body to remind him of how exhausted and hurt he was. Collapsing on the dirt sounded _wonderful._ He was almost safe, just a little more. He stumbled towards the dining hall, debating whether or not he should stop and take a hot bath. Being the middle of the night, he doubted anyone would catch him bathing. And hot water sounded _heavenly_ with how cold he was from the flight. A little too heavenly. A bath would have to wait until he was sure he wouldn’t nod off and drown.

He snuck into the kitchen as easily as ever. This wasn’t his first midnight snack run and it wouldn’t be his last. He was in and out with a loaf of bread safely tucked between his teeth for his efforts. Plain as the bread was, it might as well be baked by the Gods for how good it was.

A shriek nearly made him bite through his bread and tongue. As soon as the shock wore off he recognized the noise. The white little bundle zooming towards him could make deceptively loud noises when she put her mind to it.

“Shh, you’ll get me in trouble.” Noodle didn’t care about stealth. She slammed into his legs and cried at him. _“[Right-side][!]”_ He angled his body so Noodle wouldn’t crawl up his battered left. Noodle cried out again as she crawled up his clothes, her big eyes gleaming in the moonlight. As soon as she perched on his shoulder she slammed her noggin into his. Because apparently he wasn’t bruised enough. 

He leaned his weight against a wall and headbutted her in return. He doubted he could raise his arms up to pet her without multiple muscle groups seizing up. “Yeah, I missed you too, you spoiled little thing.”

She cried out over and over with a familiar call. It was the call she used exclusively for him. He _really_ should translate it just as _“[Parent]”._ That was technically what she meant. The call came from a bastardization of the way baby birds called out to their parents. Noodle added her own little twang to the ‘word’, tacking on part of the rhythm for [-love] without fully altering the ‘word’. It made the noise a bit more childish to his ear, so a proper translation would be more like [Baba] or [Daddy]. He was the only one that understood her, so he could translate it as whatever he felt like. She used almost the same call for Dimitri, so he needed some way to label the difference in his head other than just [Parent A] and [Parent B]. It wasn’t just an excuse, it was practical!

_“[Baba!] [Baba!] [Baba home][-now] [Baba!][-Sad]”_

_No wonder he could never say no to her._ He sighed and tried to project an exasperation he didn’t feel. “I wasn’t gone long.”

_“[Baba][-here] [Baba][-stay][-sad]”_

“Yes, yes, I’m not going anywhere. You’re so spoiled, you sweet thing.”

_“[Missed Baba][-Sad!]”_

_“[Missed silly child][-Fond]”_ He pressed a small kiss to her forehead.

“Welcome back.”

 _“[Shit][!]”_ He flung himself from the wall in preparation to run or defend himself and succeeded in just barely _not_ doubling over in pain as his ribs protested the quick movement.

 _“[Shit][-sad]”_ Noodle echoed.

 _Great,_ he taught Noodle her first (and only, really) swear word. Dimitri didn’t need to know that. He cleared his throat and ignored the heat burning through his cheeks. “You need to stop sneaking up on me, Your Princeliness.”

“I was rather loud with my steps. I suppose you were occupied.” He couldn’t see Dimitri’s grin in the darkness but he could hear it. “She has missed you. As have I, in truth. I didn’t expect you back so soon.”

He winked. “That’s because I wheedled my grandfather to let me ride a wyvern back here. Truly the fastest and safest method. What are you doing on the dining hall steps at this hour? I _know_ you’re not here to sneak food like me.”

Dimitri pointed to Noodle. “She always knows when you return.”

 _“[Baba!][-Sad!]”_ she continued to wail.

“I know you’re sad, I know…” Noodle shifted, curling around to put some weight on his left side. _“[Right-side][!]”_ His semi-healed collarbone protested. _“[Heavy child][-fond]. [Right-side][-stay]. [Left][-pained]. [No touch][-reluctant]”_ He cleared his throat, ignoring Noodle’s questioning warbles. “You wouldn’t believe how tedious some nobles can be. I’m wiped out!” He interrupted himself with a coughing fit.

“Are you coming down with something? I’ll take you to the infirmary.”

He waved a hand. “No, no, it’s just the cold in my lungs. The thin air from flying, it” — he coughed more — “ugh. Air’s colder up higher, that’s why I’m coughing. It’s normal for night-time flying.” Complete bullshit on his part, but Dimitri wouldn’t know.

“Oh. I see. Can I help? Perhaps some tea?” Dimitri swept in closer. “Or, um, I could… warm you.”

Claude twisted away from Dimitri’s hand. “Nah, I just need a good night’s sleep.” He muffled a yawn with another bite of bread. Noodle shifted again, spiking more pain. He pointed to Dimitri and chirped a quick _“[Go there][-pained]”_

She whimpered pathetically, begging him with big eyes.

 _“[Go there][-pleading]. [Go to Daddy]”_ His cheeks warmed further using Noodle’s call for Dimitri. He _really_ should just translate it as [Parent B].

 _“[Yes][-Reluctant][-Sad]”_ Noodle did as he asked and hopped off his shoulder (sparking more pain).

“Ah, welcome back Noodle. It’s rather silly how she cries for you, yet when you’re back she hops between us.”

“Yep. Pretty funny.” Dimitri reached out for him again. He stepped further away. “Let’s head to bed, yeah?”

“You must be tired.” Dimitri drew closer. “Shall I carry you to your room?”

“Such a gentleman! I’ve trained you well. No, I need to stretch my legs. Just got off a wyvern.”

“Oh. Okay.” Dimitri radiated ‘kicked puppy’ energy. “If you change your mind…”

“It’s not _far._ Hah, I’m not an infant! Now why don’t you tell me what I missed.”

With only a few words of his from time to time he got Dimitri to do most of the talking, updating him on ~~his~~ the animals. He had to focus on walking. Dimitri kept getting closer to him, kept reaching. Subtly dodging him wasn’t easy. It wasn’t until they got to the dorms that Claude realized a problem: Dimitri expected they would sleep together. They’d been sharing a bed for over a week straight after all. If he wasn’t injured, he would be delighted to snuggle up to warm Dimitri. 

He could ask for some privacy tonight. It wouldn’t be weird. They didn’t use to spend all their nights together after all. Dimitri would understand.

Dimitri’s steps slowed to a stop far before either of their rooms. “Do you hear that?”

In the silence of night, the little scraping noises and tiny mews were impossible to miss. He scrubbed a hand down his forehead. He just wanted to _sleep_ already.

He knocked on Edelgard’s door. “Hey, Princess, my kittens better be okay.”

The door flung open fast enough that Edelgard must have been at the door when he knocked. Three excitable kittens spilled out of her room and clambered at his feet, lit by faint candlelight. 

“Claude. I assure you no harm has come to them, they have been… overly excitable for the past half hour. That is all. They are perfectly fine and healthy under my care.” She pinned him with a glare like that was _his_ fault. “They’ve never acted like this before.” She ran fingers through her disheveled hair, looking almost as tired as he felt.

Dimitri laughed, earning a deadly glare from Edelgard and a raised eyebrow from him. “Apologies, it’s just that Noodle did the same. Somehow your animals always seem to know when you come back.”

He leveled a stern look down at the trio frolicking at his feet. “I know object permanence isn’t a kitten’s strong suit, but you three can’t do this every time I come back from a trip.” He would have bent down to pet them if he wasn’t certain the movement would leave him groaning in agony. “Yes, I’m still alive, your source of rent and food won’t abandon you. Now go to bed.”

Edelgard knelt down and reached out a hand that the kittens ignored. After a few seconds of looking dejected, she rearranged her expression to be angry at him. She stood back up and crossed her arms. “I see they have made their decision. I respect their freedom of choice. However, I demand you uphold our deal and compensate me with another night this week.”

“Freedom of choice? Princess. They’re literally kittens. They just smell new and exciting scents on me or something.” He tried to nudge them back into Edelgard’s room with results he should have expected: absolute refusal.

“You two have a deal…?” Dimitri looked between them.

“A contract. One that I am certain Riegan will uphold, _yes?”_

He rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. You can have your kitten-cuddles tomorrow night.”

 _“Claude,_ for the last time, do not call it… that…?”

“Oh? Shall I call them your snuggle buddies? Comfort pals? Fluffy little bundles of love? Edelgard’s cute little secrets? Or—”

“What is _that?”_

She was pointing at him. “Uh, me?”

She poked his neck. Specifically, one of the bruises on his neck. _That his unbuttoned school uniform failed to cover._ He flinched back, slapping a hand to cover the dark outlines of a hand.

“What is it?” Dimitri twisted to look at his neck, luckily now covered. 

“It’s a funny story, actually. Just a little mix of mistaken identity and snooping somewhere I wasn’t supposed to be, you know how I am. We all had a big laugh after the misunderstanding was cleared up.”

“How is being choked a misunderstanding?”

Dimitri’s eyes flew wide. _“What?!”_

“Shh!” Claude brought his freehand to his lips. “It’s the middle of the night, don’t shout in the halls.”

 _“What happened.”_

A shudder ran down his spine at Dimitri’s growl. He shot a glare at Edelgard. “See what you’ve done?”

Her eyes were sharp. “You haven’t seen a healer.”

“It looks much worse than it is. It’s mostly superficial. Just some roughhousing that went a little far.” Apparently that excuse worked much better in Almyra than Fódlan, as neither of the royals were convinced. “And I _did_ drink a concoction. It’s been a very busy day. Noble stuff, you know.”

Dimitri tugged his hands away. His glower put Edelgard’s to shame. Claude _knew_ it wasn’t aimed at him but Dimitri looked like he was seriously considering homicide. “This was no accident. Tell me who did this to you.” Noodle whined, rubbing against Dimitri’s face. He ignored her. “You _told me_ you were _fine.”_

“I am. Now back _up,_ Dimitri.” 

For a terrifying second he thought Dimitri was going to ignore him. After a few tense exhales Dimitri took a stiff step backwards, his eyes still fixed on Claude’s throat. Usually he enjoyed the weird flutters from Dimitri’s protectiveness. Something less pleasant weighed down his stomach now. Dimitri wasn’t going to leave him alone. Not after the paranoid fit he had a week ago.

Edelgard jabbed at his neck. He succeeded at not yelping. _Ow, rude._ “Give me one good reason not to wake Manuela right now.” 

“For one, your Eagle professor is probably sleeping off a hangover. Since when do you care about my health, Your Royalness? Is this a come on?” For some reason, _that_ was the thing that got Dimitri to turn his murderous expression on Edelgard.

“If that’s what you think a come on is, you need help. Is it so much to be concerned for the health of my classmate?”

He winked. “That sounds flimsy to me. C’mon, you can tell me your real motive.”

“We’re going to Manuela this instant. I’ll carry you if you refuse,” Dimitri growled.

“What’s going on out here? It’s the middle of the night, some of us are sleeping.” The door next to Edelgard’s creaked open. _Hilda’s door._ Somewhere, there was a God that had it out for Claude tonight, he was _certain._

“Someone tried to kill Claude!”

“Are you this annoying to everyone? It’s a wonder your own classmates haven’t staged a coup.”

Hilda just blinked. “It’s way too early for this.”

“Exactly! See, she gets it! And no one tried to _kill_ me! You’re blowing this way out of proportion. So how about we all just go to bed already. I’m exhausted. Aren’t you two? Let’s just go to bed.”

 _“Um,_ what’s that blotch on your neck?”

He slapped his forehead. _“Nothing,_ Hilda.”

“It’s a strangulation mark.”

_“A what?!”_

He threw up his hands. “You know what? I have had the longest day of my life corralling nobles, I’m going to bed. Bye everyone.”

He made it a single step before Dimitri reached out and snatched his waist. Which would have been fine, except his side was still a mashed pulp. He froze in place, biting back a shout. Dimitri missed his ribs which was good, but _everything_ on that side hurt. He couldn’t allow Dimitri to find out it was even _worse._ If Dimitri was this upset about a simple strangulation bruise, his broken ribs were going to… he didn’t know _what_ the prince would do. He maintained silence until Dimitri’s fingers dug into his side, forcing him to bite out a weak “stop.”

Dimitri flinched away from him. He fought the urge to rub his side. At his feet, the three kittens were puffed up and hissing at Dimitri. Noodle whined, nipping lightly at Dimitri’s hair. He scrubbed his palms against his eyes. How long had it been since he slept? Was this night two without sleep? He couldn’t remember.

He whirled on Edelgard. “What _I_ think, Princess, is that you can see the circles under my eyes. If I get magical healing, I’m going to be in a coma after. So _no,_ I’m not going to Manuela. Nice try. You’ll have to try harder than that if you want to get rid of me.”

Edelgard cocked her head. “Did you just insinuate I might attempt to have you assassinated? _Me?_ For the sake of our future diplomatic relations, I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

“Just like how I pretend Hubert doesn’t threaten to murder me whenever I see him.”

_“What?!”_

“Dimitri I swear to every God out there if you cause an international incident by attacking Hubert over some friendly banter I’ll never speak to you again.” He broke his grin completely to glower at Dimitri. “I’m serious about that. Don’t go picking a fight.”

“I’m not dealing with your tension, solve this without Adrestia. Claude, I expect the kittens tomorrow. Good night, try not to die in your sleep.” Edelgard firmly shut her door.

“I’m taking you to the infirmary,” Dimitri stated but made no move to crowd him. He just loomed, blocking the hallway.

“Nope. I’m going to bed.”

“I’ll _drag_ you there.”

“Nah. You won’t _force_ me against my will, will you Dimitri?” He challenged Dimitri with a stare of his own. “You wouldn’t abuse my trust like that. Because if you did, there’s no saying if you’d ever get that trust back. And wouldn’t that be a shame? Noodle would be so sad to never see you again.”

“Claude—”

“Ahem.” Hilda poked his leg with her toes. _Right._ He didn’t forget about her, he was just a bit distracted. “Maybe we should take this discussion out of the middle of the hallway. Ooh, I know the perfect place for you to spill everything that happened! The infirmary.”

“Nope. I’m going to bed.”

“Oh, in that case…” Hilda twirled a loose strand of hair, “guess I’ll just write to my big brother and ask him…”

“Holst doesn’t know anything,” he lied. He turned his back on them both and walked towards his room, three kittens marching at his heels. 

“Ugh, why are you so stubborn about accepting help?” _Of course Hilda was following him._ “If you’re so paranoid about being knocked out from healing, we can keep watch over you! Like, Raphael, or Leonie, or whoever you want, any of us Deer will do it! Ugh, I’ll even do it if you really want, and I promise I won’t slack. Are you listening? _Me,_ promising not to slack!”

He stopped at his door, eyeing the handle. He swallowed hard. If someone wanted to kill him, this was where they would look for him. He wasn’t going to be able to sleep in there.

“You don’t want to sleep here.”

“Are you guessing or telling me, Your Highness? Last _I_ knew, you have no say over me.”

“Claude, may I touch you?” The way Dimitri grit it through his teeth, it was _barely_ phrased as a question. Gloved hands hovered inches from his waist.

He scrunched his shoulders together and listed away. Saying _no_ might as well be screaming to the rooftops that he wasn’t okay. He didn’t want to be touched though. One part because of the pain, one part because he just… didn’t. He never did when he was winding down from an attempt on his life. 

Dimitri didn’t touch him. “You can sleep in my room. You can have my bed, I’ll keep watch for you. Whatever you need, please Claude, let me help. Tell me who hurt you and I vow I’ll hunt them down and ensure they never touch you again.”

He caught Hilda giving Dimitri a weird look. Unable to muster the courage to open his own door, he turned and smiled. He lightly laughed. Laughing hurt. “How many times do I need to say it? I can take care of myself and fight my own battles. There’s no one to hunt down. I _took care of it._ If you keep underestimating me it’s going to come back to bite you, Your Highness.”

“I’m not—” Dimitri cut himself off, glaring into the floor.

“Claude, when was the last time you slept?”

He raised an eyebrow at Hilda. “Where did that question come from?”

“Dear Goddess, you’re never _this_ difficult unless you’re sleep deprived. Sometimes it’s like the very idea of people trying to help instead of hurt you is a foreign concept in your head. Do you want to sleep in my room? Or, I don’t know, do you want to sleep with your forest nap buddies? Come _on,_ work with us Claude!”

“How many times do I have to say I’m fine?” He forced himself to open his door, eyes darting around the empty room. He pushed the kittens inside with his feet. “I’ll see you both in the morning. Or afternoon. Tell anyone about my throat and you’ll regret it. Goodnight, Noodle.” He finished with a smile and a wink and shut the door on them both. He pressed his ear up against the wood.

Hilda sighed. “Don’t take it personally, Dimitri. You know how he can get about his space.”

“He’s hurt.”

“And if he wants to be stubborn and suffer through it, that’s his stupid choice. He won’t thank you if you try to drag him to the infirmary. You know how he is, it has to be his own choice. Or he has to be incapacitated, I guess.”

“Why won’t he let me help?” Dimitri grit out. Then, softer, “what did I do wrong?”

“I’d say you did good, big guy. You backed off when he asked you to. Ugh. Hey, if you bring him breakfast in the afternoon, I’ll bring a vulnerary. He always likes it when you bring him food and we both know he’ll be sleeping in as long as possible.”

Dimitri grunted out an affirmative. “I am off to the training grounds.” He paused. “Should I… knock and ask if he wants Noodle?”

“I can take her for the night, go and burn off some steam.” Hilda’s voice was uncharacteristically soft. “If Claude wants Noodle, he knows where to find her.” He winced. She knew he was listening in.

He carefully leaned his back against the door as footsteps vanished down the hallway. He eased his weight to sit on the ground, thumping the back of his head on the door. He wanted to blame Edelgard for calling him out in the first place, but Dimitri would have seen it eventually. He only had himself to blame for forgetting to close his collar. Lorenz was going to have a stroke when he saw Claude walking around for the next week with his collar buttoned properly.

He let the kittens claim his lap. For once they behaved, not climbing all over his side like he dreaded. They just bundled up in his lap and let him pet them. He eyed his window. 

The three people that tried to kidnap/assassinate him were dead. The fourth was probably still alive. How many others were there? He didn’t even know their motivations. He didn’t know what to think. This was a faction that was involved in his uncle’s death. He needed to determine the limits of their shapeshifting. Could there be more of those ‘ghouls’ around Garreg Mach? _In his own class?_

He needed to do something for his ribs. He couldn’t double up with a vulnerary until dawn. Mentally going over the contents of his first-aid drawer, he should have something in for the pain (maybe). He wasn't stocked up on anything for the swelling though. He didn’t have anything for his lungs either.

_Tap. Tap._

He jumped to his feet. The kittens spilled to the floor. He doubled over at the pain caused by the sharp movement, nearly falling back to the floor as his ribs screamed. More coughing overtook him.

As soon as he got his coughing under control, a voice whispered from the other side of the door. “U-um… Claude?” He breathed a sigh and mostly relaxed. He snapped his collar closed this time and peeked open his door. Marianne fidgeted in the hallway, Renart proudly snuggled in her arms. 

He opened his door a bit more. “Hey Marianne. Is Renart bugging you?”

“N-no… I, um, i-it doesn’t matter…” She sniffled. “S-sorry… I’m p-probably bothering you…”

 _Does anyone sleep in this academy?_ “Not at all. What can I do for you at this late hour?”

She buried her nose in Renart’s fur, mumbling something to the floor.

“What was that? Hey, you want to come in? Sorry about the clutter. I can put some tea together… er, actually I can’t, no hot water. You can still come in if you want.” He had to stop talking to hold back another cough. His eyes struggled to focus, eyelids fighting to close. 

“U-um… B-Butter is in my room… I think, um, he wants to see you… i-if you, um, if that’s okay…?”

 _An excuse to get out of his room._ Did Marianne know…? “Sure. That old dog can be pretty demanding, better not keep him waiting too long.”

The kittens predictably followed him to Marianne’s room. That was fine. Their footsteps were silent. His, the kitten’s, and Marianne’s. He appreciated the silence. He _needed_ the silence. Marianne opened and shut her door with slow silence. No sudden loud sounds. Something in his chest unclenched. Butter padded up to him, not even breathing a whimper.

By habit his eyes cataloged everything he could see in the darkness of her room. It was surprisingly like his own — cluttered. “Thanks for inviting me over,” he whispered, barely a breath. He liked their shared quiet. “Thanks for trusting me.” He knew exactly how difficult it could be to invite someone into a private space.

“I-it’s no problem. N-not with you.” His eye spied one of Hilda’s pink hair ties on the desk. It was good Marianne was comfortable at least with the two of them.

He looked at her. _Really_ looked at her now. “Did you have a nightmare?” Tear tracks were dried on her cheeks.

Slowly she nodded, clutching Renart a bit closer. “R-Reynard woke me up, I-I’m okay…”

“I’m glad.” He eased himself to sit onto her bed, coaxing the kittens up. “With Renart, Butter, and three kittens, I don’t think any nightmares will come back.”

“C-can I… a-ask something? Y-you can say no…”

“No harm in asking.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “Will you stay too? L-like, um, in the cave…”

He took advantage of her not looking at him, shuddering out a silent wheeze. _No one would look for him in her room._ “I’m no kitten, but I’ll do my best. Under one condition.” He paused, hands on the ties to his jacket. He didn’t want to sleep in it. “Two, actually. I took a bit of a beating last night. Don’t mention it. And, uh, no tight hugs.”

Marianne nodded. She made no comment as he took off his jacket. He _knew_ the marks on his neck were visible and damning. He wondered if she also overheard parts of his earlier conversation. He slipped into bed with her. 

He eased down onto his back and bit back a curse. He’d underestimated how much worse the stabbing in his chest would be in a vertical position. Every breath, now fighting against gravity, was worse than before he drank the concoction hours ago. 

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Marianne biting her lip and staring at him. He shot her a smile that he hoped didn’t look as miserable as he felt. He tried to shift into a more comfortable position. His ribs protested and his smile faltered.

“You don’t have to stay… I’m sorry. I’m just a burden…”

“Next time I have Noodle, I’m collecting a sorry tax.” If he laid still long enough, surely the pain would wane. He squeezed his eyes shut. Most of his pain-management techniques involved breathing exercises, so those were all out. He just needed to ignore the pain until it eased.

Renart draped on top of his knees. _A cough curled in his lungs, begging to be let free._ The kittens tucked themselves against his uninjured hip. _An invisible weight made a nest on his chest._ Butter settled on his feet. _With every shallow breath, the weight on his chest grew heavier._ Vish slept around his ankle. He needed to focus on the fur and scales, not the pain.

“It’s more than just your throat.”

“That obvious?” he wheezed. “It’s not so bad. Just needed to adjust. Already feeling better.” If anything, the pain was getting worse. He forced himself to reach out for Marianne. “Why’re you all the way over there? I won’t bite, promise.”

She shuffled closer. Her touch was feather-light. Maybe she was worried about hurting him. Maybe it was just a Marianne thing. Despite her caution she managed to bump his ribs. He muffled the scream he wanted to let out as a little wheeze. Marianne flinched back and he lost all progress in getting her to relax.

Coaxing her closer was like coaxing a scared critter. It gave him something to do, something to focus on. He snaked an arm under her neck and around her shoulders. He directed her to safe places for her to touch. It didn’t help that he didn’t know her preferences when it came to cuddling. Ever so slowly she relaxed, taking initiative to settle herself.

Cuddling with Marianne was nothing like cuddling with Dimitri. That wasn’t a bad thing. It was… softer. More equal footing. Dimitri was _safe, strong,_ and _enveloping._ He loved Dimitri’s strength, but it was ingrained into his bones to be wary. There was a wide power-imbalance between them. Even though his gut and heart refused to fear Dimitri, his mind loved to spin endlessly. _Yes_ Dimitri could crush him, _no_ he wouldn’t crush him, _yes_ it was hot and _yes_ it was comforting. He was still coming to terms with how much he enjoyed feeling protected. It went against everything he knew, but he _did_ in fact love it. Usually. Sometimes though, he worried Dimitri would stop giving him a choice in the matter. No matter how many nice butterflies that line of thought raised in him, it worried him. Dimitri liked to push when it came to him. He didn’t like to be pushed.

Marianne wasn’t like that. She was like him. In her timid embrace, he felt… _understood._ For some reason, his insides didn’t squirm at that thought. She was _safe_ in an emotional sense. She didn’t hate him, or pity him, or think less of him for his true face. Whatever magic emotion-sensing ability she had made presenting a brave face pointless anyways. Around her, he didn’t need to pretend. He could just be himself.

He pressed his face into her shoulder. She didn’t comment on the vice grip he squeezed into her nightgown just as he didn’t comment on how she burrowed herself closer to him.

“Thanks. For not prying.” He was aware of the hypocrisy. Maybe she already knew. Not the details, but his feelings. Marianne was good at effortlessly understanding him (when she wasn’t worried about doing something wrong).

It was odd. Dimitri accepted him and cared about him. Which was wild, but he had to admit it must be true. But Dimitri didn’t always understand him. He _tried._ Claude could see that. Dimitri was _trying so hard._ He didn’t want to begrudge Dimitri for missing the mark here and there. No one understood Claude. It was asking the impossible for Dimitri to understand him.

Somehow Marianne got him. And just like Dimitri, despite how it should terrify him, he liked it. Really, it was what he wanted in life. To be accepted and understood. He just didn’t know how to open up to anyone, let alone Dimitri. Could Marianne feel him spinning his wheels again? Judging by her breathing, she was still awake. He should rest. For her, if nothing else. He was tired.

The pain wasn’t getting any lighter.

He drifted off. For a short while. The pain in his chest woke him back up.

He turned his head away from Marianne and coughed as quietly as he could into a pillow. His throat hurt, his lungs hurt, his ribs hurt. Coughing made it so much worse but he couldn’t stop.

“Sorry,” he rasped as soon as his fit ended.

“Sorry,” Marianne echoed in typical Marianne-fashion.

It was the start of a string of coughing fits. He couldn’t bring in enough air without coughing it out. After his third fit, with tears stinging at the corner of his eyes — from coughing or pain, he didn’t know — he tried to sit up. “Sorry. I’ll g-go… back to my… own room… I’m keeping you up. This” — he broke off to cough a few times — “this isn’t the best way to prevent nightmares.” He cracked a weak smile and started coughing again.

“I know you told me not to mention it… but please let me look at what’s wrong.”

“I’m fine. It’s just from laying down. I’m fi—” He tried to get up but couldn’t. 

“C-Claude, I, um, I think something’s wrong.”

He shook his head back and forth as the coughing refused to stop. With each heave, he felt his ribs shifting again and again, broken ends grinding against broken ends. If he had the air, he might have screamed. Marianne touched his side, causing him to flinch away and fall off the bed. 

At some point his fit ended. He could taste blood, probably from his throat. Every wheeze stabbed him. Over the sound of his wheezing, Marianne was crying. Technically he was crying too but cough-tears didn’t count.

“Why?”

“C-cracked some… some ribs…”

“N-no, why won’t y-you let anyone help?”

“I’m fine.” His wheeze sounded like a dying animal. “Don’t need it.” _It hurt so bad._ “I’m fine.”

“You’re not!” She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. “We both know you aren’t fine! Why are you lying?”

He grit his teeth and tried to stand. He would go back to his room. “I’m fine. I d-don’t need… to be coddled. Not…” _weak. Not weak._ He couldn’t even finish before more coughs left him crumpled on her carpet. _I’m not weak._ “C-can take care,” _cough, cough,_ “o-of m-mysel—” _cough, cough, cough,_ “c-can handle, on my o-own—”

He couldn’t breathe.

Marianne was talking. He couldn’t breathe. Her hands touched him. He writhed on the ground, desperate to gasp in anything. He was choking. Hot blood flooded his mouth. His shirt was yanked up to expose his chest to cold air. He couldn’t breathe. His vision went white.

He didn’t know what was happening with his ribs and lungs, but it hurt. It hurt and he could gasp again. He pulled in as much air as he could. Liquid spattered from his mouth.

“Don’t move. Please don’t move. You can hate me after you’re healed. I’m sorry, but I won’t stop.” Under the icy hot feeling of faith magic dribbled cold tears onto his chest. Grey numbness washed away the waves of pain and his ability to move. He hated this part of healing. He hated being helpless. Marianne didn’t stop. Her face was lit in a glow of wretched determination.

She healed him for minutes. He could faintly feel his ribs shifting and his lungs moving. It was all numb. Eventually her light faded. The numbness remained. He hated being helpless. This was why he didn’t want to be healed. Faith magic was most effective the newer the injury was. Being healed _now,_ a full day after his injury, meant it took much more out of his body.

Marianne shook above him. Another sob bubbled from her lips. She crumbled over top of him.

Tilting his cheek onto his splayed house cape, he opened his mouth and spat out a pool of blood. With any luck it wasn’t enough to soak through the cape. He didn’t want to stain Marianne’s carpet. “Ow. That hurt.”

Her sobs stuttered. She pulled herself off of him. It was hard to see her expression in the dark. His eyes had to be wrong, because she looked angry. “Let’s get you onto the bed.” She wound an arm around his neck, carefully removing his cape and wiping his lips clean with a cloth. It was hard to get his body to work but with her help he heaved himself onto the bed. He tried to pull the blankets over himself and couldn’t even manage that much. Marianne tucked him in while he could only watch.

Something scrabbled at the door. A knock followed. 

Marianne stood up. She took a few deep breaths and opened the door just a crack. Noodle shot to his side, crying out for him.

“Noodle! Shoot. Sorry Mari. She’s acting weird, can you figure out what’s wrong with… oh, oh no, what’s wrong? Are you okay?” From his spot on the bed he couldn’t see Hilda. More importantly, Hilda couldn’t see him. The door was barely cracked. He weakly reached out to Noodle. She cooed into his neck. 

“I… I’m fine. J-just a nightmare. I’ll, I’ll take care of Noodle. M-maybe she knew I needed someone to w-wake me up.”

“Do you want some tea? I could really use some company right now… Ugh, it’s been such a stressful night. Want to come to my room? You know, like we usually do?”

“I’m sorry… I, I… n-not tonight…”

“Oh. Um. Okay. That’s totally fine! You sure you’ll be okay with Noodle?”

Marianne finished up with Hilda and shut the door. 

“I’m shocked you didn’t tattle on me,” he rasped. Healing or no healing his throat felt awful still. Butter crawled up onto the bed and laid down at his feet. Renart and the kittens were all puffed up, staring at him with shining eyes in the faint moonlight. “Fine, c’mere. Just be gentle.” Renart and the kittens pounced on the bed, snuggling up against him. “Hey. Mari. Come lay down. That healing must’ve worn you out.” He could barely keep his eyes open.

Marianne sat in her desk chair facing away from him. She shook her head.

“Mari?”

“You need to rest. I’m not tired.” She pillowed her head on her arms and laid her head on the desk. “Go to sleep, Claude.”

His eyelids were heavy. His body was heavy. “I can’t.”

“Do you hate me?”

“Of course not.” His brain moved like syrup trying to connect why she asked that.

“I know I’m not very good at healing. I’m not good at anything.”

“Hey, that’s not true. My lung sure thinks you’re great at healing.”

“What was worth dying for?”

His brain was still syrup. “I don’t think we’re having the same conversation. What’dya mean?”

“Is it because you hate me? You can say yes.”

“Stop that. You know I don’t hate you. You’re my friend.” He didn’t have many of those.

“You’re not like me,” she whispered. His eyes dropped away from her. He thought Marianne understood… “You’ve got a future, and you have friends, and… and people would be sad if you died.”

“Hah. Plenty would be happy too.”

“Are they more important?”

“No. Look, Marianne, I’m not going to go dying on anyone.”

She choked another sob and stood up. Her back was still to him. “Reynard and Butter told me you needed help. Do you know what would have happened if they didn’t push me to knock on your door?”

“I’d probably be coughing up a lung on my carpet.”

“You would be dead.” She turned to face him. Her tears were silent now. Her hair hung messy over her eyes, her skin pale. She took a shaky breath, her voice coming out steady and clinical. “Severe bruising in the left lung. Partial pulmonary laceration. Lung inflammation, causing severe coughing. The coughing caused your lung to tear. Your left lung was collapsing, Claude. You would have suffocated alone.”

His jaw worked soundlessly.

“You refused to let anyone help you. N-not me, or Hilda, or Dimitri…” She tilted her chin, revealing her hooded eyes. “What was worth dying over?”

He couldn’t look her in the eye. He eyed Noodle instead. If wyverns could cry, she’d be sobbing. “It couldn’t have been that bad. I’ve had worse.”

“Go to sleep, Claude. You need rest.”

“I can’t.” Vish was exhausted from her constant vigilance. None of his other animals were enough to deter someone from hurting him. “I can’t.”

“I can go get Hilda or Dimitri if you want. They make you feel safe. They can protect you, since I’m not good enough…”

 _How_ did she know?! “I don’t need to be protected!” The hoarse shout surprised him as much as it did Marianne. He hugged Noodle to his chest. “I can take care of myself.”

 _“No you can’t!”_ The shout burst out of Marianne like a clap of thunder, startling him even in his numb state. She bent over herself and tugged at her hair. “I know you don’t trust me, that’s _fine!_ But why do you refuse to accept help?”

“I trust you…” _Somewhat._ Much more than most. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

“You refused to let me heal you. D-do you know how much harder it is to heal someone _and_ keep them alive at the same time?! One mistake from me and you would’ve d-died anyways! Y-you are so lucky I didn’t mess it up. I-if you just let yourself be healed before it got this bad… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t yell. I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s nothing personal, Mari. It’s not your fault, don’t blame yourself. I’m just…” _Paranoid. Terrified._ **_Weak._ **“cautious.” 

“You’re lying again.” Marianne hunched in on herself, squeezing her arms around her waist. “You’re so smart, and good at talking, and kind, and you’re so strong. So much stronger than me. I don’t understand why you would throw that all away.”

“If I was strong, I wouldn’t need help,” he whispered into the darkness. Closing his eyes, he could see a crowd sneering at him. He could see his parents’ disappointed eyes.

“You _are_ strong. L-like you said, we’re… similar. You’ve had it hard. I… I’m sorry that I know that. You’re not like me. You _can’t_ be like me, not about this. E-everything that’s happened to you, you keep _going._ I can’t do that. I’m not strong like you. It’s not weak to need help with a life-threatening injury! I-if it happened to anyone else, you’d be trying to help them. How come you’re different? How come you don’t think you deserve that help too?” She hiccupped. “What are you trying to prove?”

 _Prove it._ “I’m not…” _Prove it._ “It’s…” _You can’t do it alone, coward. Weakling! Prove you can do it!_ “I… I wasn’t…” **_Weakling. Mutt. Halfbreed. Prove you aren’t weak. Prove it._ ** “I… I don’t need to prove anything to anyone.” **_You will die if you can’t fight your own battles, Khalid._ ** “I don’t need to be protected. I’m not weak. I can stand on my own two feet.”

_Can’t he? “It doesn’t matter if I’m strong or weak! I still deserve to live!” Doesn't he?_

_Oh Khalid. Prove it. Prove the worth of your life. Prove you can keep it. Prove you deserved to be born in the first place. Prove you weren’t a mistake, Khalid._

“I don’t need to prove anything…”

“S-sorry… I shouldn’t have said anything… I can’t do anything right…”

An odd sound came from his throat. “I almost died. I would’ve died tonight.” _And it would have been his own stupid fault._ He knew better. Pride had no place in survival. _He knew better._ But… 

_‘Let me protect you. Let me keep you safe._ **_You can’t protect yourself. You are weak without me.’_ **

“Hey. Marianne…? Do you think Dimitri thinks I’m… weak?”

“N-no, um, he seems to th-think the world of you.”

“Then how come he doesn’t let me fight my own battles? He knows me well. Doesn’t that mean he…” 

“I, um, I don’t know.”

Survival _always_ came before pride. Survival left no room for pride. Trying to prove himself was an impossible game. The only way to win was to not play at all. People like him couldn’t win against a race where the goal post was moved further and further the closer he got. Pride was foolish. He never had anyone to prove himself to. No one _real._ Just faceless crowds and a palace full of minds already made before his birth. No one he cared about. His parents just wanted him to survive. That was what made them proud of him.

He knew better. He knew what they said wasn't _right._ He knew he didn't need to prove himself to anyone. He _knew._

_'Let me protect you. You aren't strong enough to protect yourself.'_

Dimitri wasn’t another blurry face in a jeering crowd. Dimitri wasn’t another peer chasing him down with rocks. Dimitri wasn’t another abstract friend he imagined in his childish mind. Dimitri wasn’t another person to hide from. He wanted to stand _with_ Dimitri, not hide behind him. He wanted to prove it. He _needed_ to prove it. Dimitri was important. Hilda was important. Marianne was important. He wasn’t weak. He couldn’t let them think he was weak. He couldn’t let them leave him like everyone else.

He was a fool. What was more important; Dimitri’s opinion, or his life? It was a stupid question with an obvious answer. He just couldn’t stand to be vulnerable around others. For the first time in his life he had a few individuals he trusted enough to not kill him in his sleep, and here he was worried about what they _thought_ of him. What an utter fool he’d become.

“I was pretty stupid rejecting your help, wasn’t I. Thanks for caring about my health. Thanks for hammering some sense into me. Sorry I almost died on your carpet. Can I ask one more selfish thing from you?”

“U-um, maybe.”

“Y-yeah, okay, actually two things. Wake me up if someone breaks in? I can’t defend myself in my sleep.” He couldn’t defend himself at all with how numb he was. He tried not to think about that. He tried to stop his weak sniffling. 

“O-okay.”

“Thanks. Can you also… not tell anyone? About any of this?”

“Just like the cave. Another cave secret.” She jerked a tiny nod and tried for an even tinier smile. 

“Thanks. You’re such a good friend.” She wiped away a tear. It wasn’t hers this time. “O-one more thing? You must be tired, and I’m taking up your bed… you should sleep here.” She didn’t immediately reply. He squeezed his eyes shut. _“Please?”_ He was willing to beg if she didn’t say something soon.

She didn’t say a word. She didn’t call him pathetic like he half-expected her to. She just slipped into bed and embraced him. That was all it took to drop off into much needed dreamless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude's (human) friend-list, pros/cons:  
> Hilda- Not traumatized, steady presence / racist :(  
> Dimitri- v stronk, protective, hot / very traumatized, overprotective, scary if untrustworthy  
> Marianne- sweet, non-threatening, kinda like an animal-friend / sad, fragile confidence, no self-worth
> 
> Claude: I shall not seek medical attention for this very bad injury, and nothing bad will come from that  
> Lung: I can't take this work environment, i quit :(  
> Claude: Who could have predicted this?!
> 
> Oh no, babies had their first fight :( They'll make up, I promise, and they'll be better off for it. Here we have Claude running face-first into a lil bit of culture clash and his buried trauma (and the consequences of his actions).


	25. "I don't care," Claude said, caring deeply

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: Hilda is racist/xenophobic again in this chapter, though she's progressing towards something better

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for being slow to reply to comments recently (on all my fics). It's been a hectic past week or so for me. Anyways, happy winter-specific holiday to all, stay safe out there
> 
> Here's some lovely [fanart](https://twitter.com/closet_crybaby/status/1338487726908194816?s=19) by Closetcrybaby :D Thank you so much!

A few days passed since the roundtable. Ribs aching enough to keep him out of the archery grounds, he was otherwise healthy with Marianne's help.

He wasn’t avoiding Dimitri. He still brought Noodle by, still let the prince visit. He offered to let Dimitri take her if he wanted, but the prince refused every time. He wasn’t avoiding Dimitri, he just wanted some space. The ‘protection’ used to be novel and comforting. That was before he realized how little Dimitri thought of him. Now it was degrading. Dimitri didn’t respect him.

It was a unique kind of rejection. He should have seen it coming.

_Yes_ he missed hanging out with Dimitri. He missed having a friend he could relax with. Someone he could let down his guard a little bit. There was Hilda, but he couldn’t afford to slip up with her. Marianne was a good friend that he could be himself around, but she couldn’t replace Dimitri. She was sensitive, every single word of his needing to be double and triple checked to ensure he wouldn’t accidentally say something to hurt her feelings. She was also sensitive towards _him_ and his emotions, which was both terrifying and oddly freeing. 

He couldn’t hang out with Marianne like he did with Dimitri (aka constantly). She liked her alone time (he _used_ to like his alone time, what happened there?) and he didn’t feel the urge to always be around her. He only spent every other night sleeping with her.

Okay, so he _really_ missed hanging out with Dimitri. He missed his dear friend. Even though he still wasn’t sure what that meant. Hilda was his best friend and Dimitri was his dear friend (he needed to figure out what sort of friend Marianne was. ‘Kind friend’? Was that a thing?) He spent the majority of his life without a single friend, he wasn’t about to let this stop him. He didn’t _need_ anyone. He was self-sufficient. He still had _two whole friends._

It was just a fight. Hilda told him friends got into fights all the time. It was normal. He just hoped Hilda was right. He didn’t want to lose Dimitri as a friend. Yet he couldn’t relax around someone who refused to respect him. It wasn’t like he needed Dimitri to flatter him, he just needed Dimitri to understand they were _equals._ He _thought_ Dimitri got that.

“How is your throat?”

May all the Gods forbid Dimitri ever learn the extent of his injuries. Dimitri didn’t even know about his ribs and he was _still_ overbearing all over a little strangulation mark. “Doing great, Your Princliness. Noodle’s looking sad from a lack of attention.”

“Apologies.” Dimitri didn’t look down at Noodle as she continued to whine for his attention. Dimitri continued to stare at the same spot just to the left and behind Claude. 

He dragged his eyes down to his book. The thick smudges under Dimitri’s eyes weren’t his problem. If the prince wasn’t sleeping, Dedue could badger him instead. Unlike _Dimitri,_ Claude respected his friend enough to let him take care of himself. Dimitri would be insulted if _Claude_ insinuated that he couldn’t do anything on his own. Probably wouldn’t even catch the hypocrisy of that…

Maybe he was more affected than he admitted to himself.

“About this month’s mission, I would like to accompany—”

“For the last time, talk to _Teach_ about that. Not me.”

Dimitri gave a stiff nod. “Yes. Of course.” The prince bid him and Noodle goodnight with little fanfare. Dimitri lingered by his door. “My room is always open to you. I promise no one will hurt you in my—”

“Yep, heard you the last dozen times,” he chirped with a wink.

Dimitri stared behind his shoulder. “I swear I won’t allow any to harm you. Regardless of what you think of me, that won’t change. If you would just tell me who—”

“Goodnight, Your Highness. You look tired enough for the both of us, better go get that beauty sleep of yours.”

Dimitri pressed his lips thin and nodded, slipping the door shut behind him. Footsteps sounded to the left, not right. Dimitri wasn’t going to his room. The library or the training grounds? No, he didn’t want to think about Dimitri any longer. The prince could go wherever he pleased.

_“[Daddy come here][-begging]”_

“Aw, am I not enough for you girl? ”He collected Noodle around his neck, sighing into her scales.

_“[Miss daddy][-sad]”_

“You just saw him, spoiled girl.” 

She pressed her snout down into his shirt, burbling more sad noises.

“I know, me too. Me too. He’s not been paying much attention to you, huh.” Maybe this would be an important lesson for her. It wouldn’t be good for her to trust every person she came across. Sometimes the worst betrayals came from those closest. Not that Dimitri betrayed either of them. Claude just disagreed with one of Dimitri’s opinions. On him.

He waited for her to settle before he left his room. Edelgard had the kittens. Marianne was probably sick of him crowding her. It was just him and Noodle.

As ever it was easy as peasy to slip out of the monastery. He would be safe in the forest. He spent half of his nights in it now. It never took long for someone to greet him in the woods, usually a new face each time. Sometimes he slept with the mother-bear and her cub. Sometimes with a pack of wolves. Sometimes a blanket of smaller critters. 

“Oh. It’s you.” The white hind nodded to him. “You followed me back to the monastery?”

She didn’t answer (obviously). She turned tail and slowly trotted further into the forest. Beside her bounced the two fawns. He took his place at her side too, patting her back in greeting. She nuzzled his face in reply.

“Guess I made a good impression if you’re back for more pets.” He stifled a yawn. “Oh, this is Noodle. Say hi, Noodle.” Noodle sniffed the hind. The hind sniffed back, rubbing up against her. 

He couldn’t say how long they walked for. The dark forest left him near blind but that was what the deer guide was for. His hand on her back, she didn’t lead him astray. Once or twice he almost tripped over the bouncy fawns but more often than not they altered his path around roots or rocks that nearly tripped him.

The undergrowth grew thicker. It got to the point he couldn’t see even a foot ahead of himself. Yet the deer knew where they were going. Despite how crowded he should be by the plants, the deer-path was effortless to traverse. He’d traveled all over the forest but he didn’t recognize this path in the darkness. He couldn’t remember any spot so dense either.

“Where’re we even going?” he asked behind a yawn. “I didn’t come out here for a hike y’know.” It was a struggle to keep his eyelids open. Wasn’t like he could see anything anyways. He shut his eyes, allowing the deer to guide him by touch alone. His head bobbed, every step heavier than the last.

He was too tired to keep going. He slowly tilted over, resting his head on the hind’s back. She didn’t even need to groom his hair this time — he was out in an instant.

  
  


_He is alone now. Mother forced him to leave, too old to stay. The other boys left on their own but he was afraid to be alone. He still is. Mother didn’t care. He was too old so he had to go. Now it is only him._

_Green leaves are losing their color and crumbling. They turn red as blood. The world around him is falling apart. First his family, now the land. The earth shudders under every step, rocking him back and forth in a steady rhythm._

_He is afraid. He is alone. He is hungry. He is so, so lonely. He isn’t thirsty, and he tries to let that be enough even as branches grow barren. The pond, bluer than even the sky, is safe. No creatures try to make a meal out of him while he is at the pond. No matter where he goes, he can always retrace his steps back to the pond._

_But the pond is only a pond. He is afraid. He is alone. He is hungry. The world bucks and heaves under him, and he must leave._

  
  


“Nmm…” He hid his face from the painful sunlight, burying his nose into the warm fur below him. Something about the rocking motion was familiar. He stretched his arms in front of himself, relaxing them around the neck of the deer.

He drifted on and off for a bit. Then his ride stopped. He frowned into her fur. Settling onto the ground, she turned around and began nuzzling his hair. Two tiny wet noses poked him, sniffing all over.

“Heh, hi there…” He gave out a few sloppy pets, debating whether he wanted to go back to sleep or not. On one hand, soft, cozy, fluffy bed. On the other hand… there was no upside to getting up. Except for the possibility of being late, of course.

He jerked upright, scattering the fawns. He allowed the sunlight to stab his eyes as he checked the sun’s position. _Class would start any time now._

He rolled off the hind (he’d been on top of her?) and pulled himself to his feet. “I gotta run! Thanks for the nap, I’ll visit more later! Noodle?” He patted his back and found her firmly attached to his jacket by her claws, still snoozing away.

The fawns circled him, begging him with their eyes.

“I’m going to be late, you don’t understand. Deer don’t have to worry about being tardy but it’s a very big deal for humans.” Of course he petted them. Teach’s wrath was terrifying, but sad baby deer eyes were _devastating._ “Okay, okay, I _promise_ I’ll come visit later. I’ll even bring treats!” Maybe Marianne would want to come with him. The fawns mewled at him but relented, giving him a parting nuzzle and taking a step back. “Aww, aren’t you two so well behaved!” He resisted the urge to give them _just one more_ pat. It was never ‘just one more’ when it came to animals.

The hind brushed him from behind. He patted her cheek. “Yes, I’ll bring something nice for you too. Seriously, I _have_ to go. I’m who-knows-where in the woods, so—” He was at the edge of the woods, Garreg Mach within sight. “Huh. Could’ve sworn we walked a lot further than this last night…”

Something cool touched his hand. It wasn’t a nose. He glanced down and found a yellow pear being pushed into his hands by the hind. “You really are spoiling me,” he said above his growling stomach. He shoved a bite of pear into his mouth, waved goodbye, and sprinted for the classroom.

He dashed into class with only a handful of seconds before the hour bell tolled. He raised his fists into the air. “Safe!”

Raphael clapped for him, Leonie whistling. “Congratulations Claude,” Teach stated, “you get to live another day.”

He sunk into his seat beside Hilda. She smirked. “That was seriously cutting it close. Did you get lost in the woods or something?” She plucked a red leaf out of his hair. 

He shrugged, biting into his delicious pear. “Or something.”

“Hey, no fair! Where’d you get that from?” She wiggled the leaf at the pear. “What’s up with this leaf? It’s not fall, Claude. Also, pears aren’t in season either!”

He raised an eyebrow, shrugging. Did pears have seasons? _“This_ pear sure is. Here, want a bite?”

“Ew, no, you already ate half of it.” She chucked the leaf at him, letting it flutter onto the desk.

“Mm, your loss.” He ate the rest of the juicy fruit in record time. 

Teach launched into a lecture about something. The crunchy leaf on his desk took his focus. Could trees lose their leaves in summer? Weird. As curious as he was, he had a million other more important things to research than how leaves worked. It was probably just another thing he didn’t have the nuances of.

Truthfully, he hadn’t known _any_ trees lost their leaves until his horrifying discovery a year ago in Derdriu. In his defense, his panic was _very_ justified and Gramps was to blame for not telling him ahead of time. _Sure,_ he did leap to conclusions about the end of the world. He was enough of a man to admit that was ridiculous. What else was he supposed to think? Everything was normal, then a week later he went outside and the trees looked like they were dying! He assumed mass famine was approaching. 

The rare tree that grew in the capitol never dropped leaves. Other parts of Almyra probably had forests that dropped their leaves, but growing up it never occurred to him. Hell, _seasons_ were still a weird concept. He’d always known they existed — Almyra was a big place. But it was one thing to read about them and another to experience it. He was used to the two seasons of _dry_ and _wet,_ not the four seasons of _Warmish, Dead Leaves, Frozen Hellscape,_ and _Still Really Cold._

He was going to miss the Warmish season. Summer (which wasn’t half as warm as it should be up in the mountains) was already getting colder by the day. _Ugh._ Fall must be closer than he realized.

* * *

“Hilda! Such a treat to see a cute girl like you.”

“Sylvain! Oh my gosh, you have the perfect timing! You’re just the perfect guy for this, you’re so good at this kind of thing!” She gestured to the pile around her. “The professor is making me scrub the stains out of all this stuff! Ugh, Lorenz was supposed to help but Claude dropped a pile of books on his toes.”

“Doing some laundry, is that right? I’ll gladly help.” He winked. “‘Course, I’m not so great at this, so let’s tackle this together.”

“You’re so smart, you don’t need me—”

He settled in beside her, taking her pile of clean and wet clothes to hang nearby. “Don’t sell yourself short here. ‘Sides, I’ve been looking for a Golden Deer anyways. I have a question.” Prince Dimitri _needed_ this help and Sylvain would deliver. Because Sylvain was a good friend and a future knight of Faerghus. And also because he needed a distraction from the fact his asshole brother was tearing up the countryside with a stolen relic. But totally he was doing this for Dimitri’s sake.

“You’re really gonna make a cute girl like me do this work?”

“I wouldn’t forgive myself if you were blamed for my poor job.”

She grumbled as she took a bloodstained shirt and started scrubbing. “Such a gentleman. What’s your question? I doubt I’ll be any help…”

“You’re close with that house leader of yours, yeah? The charming minx with the shining emerald eyes? I keep trying to catch him after class, yet alas, he’s never around.”

“I dunno, I don’t keep track of him.”

“The rumor mill says he and His Highness broke up.”

“C’mon Sylvie, you know better than that. I know Claude is a super good friend of that prince of yours, but that’s no reason to go saying things that aren’t true.” Obviously he knew the truth even though it _still_ baffled him. Dimitri was (or rather, had been) willing to go all the way. _Something_ was stopping Claude from jumping His Highness’ bone, and Sylvain was going to figure it out if it killed him. Even if the guy was straight (doubtful) a fella didn’t touch other fellas like Claude did unless there was _something_ there. Though, fellas typically didn’t touch _anyone_ the way Claude touched Dimitri. 

“His Highness is _acting_ like they broke up. Poor guy’s heartbroken.” If ‘heartbroken’ meant shambling around like a sleep-deprived zombie. “‘Course, I think we both know how _good_ of friends those two are.”

Hilda pursed her lips. “I’m sure they’ll make up. They just need a bit of space from each other. Nothing to worry about.”

Sylvain held back a snort. _Space_ and _Claude_ were typically nonexistent between him and Dimitri unless they were in a public setting. “Must’ve been some fight. Makes me wonder, you know?”

“Oh, totally. It’s a big mystery.”

“I’ve been thinking. Since His Highness isn’t dating Claude at the moment, I’m going to give him a shot.” He winked. “I’m sure that man knows his way around a quick hookup. Think you can set me up? I’ll owe you big time.”

“Oooh, hate to break it to you but you’re better off skirt chasing.”

“Come on Hilda. I’m serious, I’ll owe you a _huge_ favor. All your chores for a month, just to give me an opening. He doesn’t even have to say yes!”

“Sorry Sylvie, you’re really not his type.” _Damn._ Hilda wasn’t going to budge. Plan B it was.

“Not blond enough? Royal enough? Not able to break him in half with my pinkie?”

She snorted. “You have no idea…”

“I’m not looking to date the guy. Just want a quickie. C’mon, he must have _tons_ of experience under his belt. With those eyes, handsome face, charming personality, and that shiny crest of his, he’s got the market cornered on sexy. Just not as sexy as me.”

“I could say the same about Dimitri.” She stopped scrubbing in order to twirl a strand of hair and pout at him. “Everyone loves a prince, and I’ve heard plenty about his _physique.”_

“From Claude?”

“From the rumor mill. So, is Faerghus’ prince like Claude? Pretty eyes, handsome, charming, and such a shiny crest. Is _he_ experienced?”

“You’ve met the guy. He’s pure as they come.” _Hoo boy wasn’t that a lie._ He was _still_ coming to terms with Horny Dimitri being a thing.

“Oh? So… what’s different about Claude?” She smiled a very specific smile that spoke of _danger._ “Maybe you should watch what you say, Gautier. What’ll your prince think if he hears you implying his dear friend whores himself around, _hm?”_

_Dimitri would murder him._ “That wasn’t what I was saying at all. But come _on,_ you’re telling me he’s a virgin? _That guy?_ He _oozes_ flirtatious energy.”

“Aww, Sylvie…” Hilda drew a circle on his hand with her finger, looking up at him with a sultry pout. “I _hate_ to burst your bubble, I really do, but sometimes people just naturally sound flirty when they conveniently need something done…” She heaved a sigh, scrunching her shoulders together to push her cleavage forward. “Have you finished that line of clothes yet?”

“Huh. He really fakes all of it?” He broke character. “Even the stuff with His Highness?”

“Pff, no, he’s just dumb. He doesn’t know _how_ to fake it.” She dropped character as well, slipping into a long-suffering expression. “He’s just as ‘pure’ as your pretty prince. He can’t even pick up on Dimitri’s interest in him.”

Dimitri’s confession rang through his mind. Specifically the part about how ignorant Claude acted. “Funny. His Highness isn’t sure if Claude likes him either.”

Hilda pressed her palm to her forehead. “Ugh. Those two are so dumb, they _must_ be meant for each other.”

“Maybe they just need a little push from their friends.” He stroked his chin. “Like, say… being locked in a closet together.”

“They’ve spent a lot of time in close quarters already. Besides, I thought you wanted a shot at Claude.”

“Oh _hell_ no.” He crossed his arms into an X shape. “I was joking, that’d be death by royal decree for me. Claude is off limits.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, how much do you know about their, er, relationship? I’ve walked in on them a few times, and I got to say… _really_ surprised they aren’t banging. Both of them want it, so what’re they waiting for?”

“You mean other than the fight they had?”

“Yeah, other than that.”

She booped his nose, leaving behind soap suds. “Aww, poor Sylvie. Maybe you’ll understand when you’re a big boy. Most people don’t share your priorities.”

“It’s my calling in life to give the ladies a good time, what can I say. Tell me about what Claude likes, we can plan something romantic for the two of them!”

“Hmm? I mean, I don’t know. What makes you think Claude tells me stuff?” She batted her eyelashes at him and dropped the heavy scrubbing board on her finger. “Ouch! Ow, that hurt.” She stuck her finger in her mouth and sniffled. “I’m going to go to the infirmary. Thanks so much for finishing this for me!”

_Aaaand_ _she was gone._ Predictable. _Oh well,_ her chore was something to distract himself with. Cleaning wasn’t a bad chore to be stuck with. A shame he didn't get more information out of her though. 

He scrubbed grass stains, food stains, ink stains, mud stains, and blood stains. Even with the magically aided soap, they were all hard to get out.

Then he came across a very familiar article of cloth. Claude’s yellow iconic house cape was hidden at the bottom of the pile. Pooled in the middle of it was a blot of deep crimson. It wasn’t fresh but it wasn’t very old either. The stain was deep, soaking the threads. Must have been a lot of blood. But it was only in the center with a few dribbles trailing towards the edge. 

He mimed wearing the cape. The bloodstain was right on the curve of his shoulder. The blood stain didn’t fit — it should have dripped down instead of soaking a puddle if Claude had been wearing it when it got bloody.

He tossed the cape into the wash basin. It wasn’t his business. Whether it was Claude’s blood or not, whether it was recent or— 

_Oh._ If Claude had been hurt and Dimitri found out… _and if they got in a fight about it…_

No wonder the training ground was being leveled nightly.

* * *

_Dear sweet baby sister,_

_Afraid I can’t say too much involving the question in your last letter. If you want to know anything, ask Claude himself. (Granted, in the short time I’ve known the young man, I assume prying details from him is a titanic task.) You’ve picked a good friend to stand by your side. I’ll admit, I was concerned at the start of the year hearing how quick he cozied up to you. He’s a little rough around the edges and he has some maturing to do, but I believe he will make a stellar Duke in the future. (And have no fear, dear lil sis, he doesn’t appear to be interested in the Edmund girl you’ve set your sights on. Stop slacking off and make a move already!)_

_You don’t care about politics (and neither do I. Goddess only knows how sick I am of father sending me to the roundtable) so I won’t bore you with the nitty gritties. Claude certainly lived up to his Riegan reputation by bringing a lively spark to the meeting! For someone who broke his ribs, collarbone, and Goddess only knows what else, he spoke very well. Not that I would expose his secret about his many, many injuries. Nope. And I am NOT annoyed (or begrudgingly impressed) that he snuck out the window and convinced his grandfather to let him ride a wyvern with said broken bones. He_ did _make it back to Garreg Mach, right? I’m assuming he did, that kid’s too stubborn to die from something like falling off a wyvern. Anyways, now that I’ve gotten it out of the way that I’m not being petty by divulging details (like him passing out on the floor) because you know I’m not a petty person (or the fact that he refused medical attention for HOURS), please keep an eye on him. You know, like you would for anyone who's RIBS ARE BROKEN. Just, as a theoretical practice._

_But in all seriousness. Hilda, I need you to listen to me: make sure your friend gets medical attention. Bodily haul him to a healer you both trust if you have to. I can’t blame him for being careful after all the political nonsense, but that kid doesn’t know how to take a break. Maybe it was just the environment but the kid didn’t even trust his own shadow._

_And Hilda, I love you, but you must stop judging others on the country they were born in. This isn’t just about that young Almyran you wrote me about. In your last letter (and many others) you have made disparaging remarks of those around you. I believe you that you are trying. From the small glimpses across the throat into our neighbors’ home, I have found many things to appreciate. In fact, I procured something for you. Something to remind you that no culture is all bad or all good — after all, could an ‘evil, dirty, warmongering’ culture, as you called them, produce something so tasty? Be sure to share these with your classmates, like that young Almyran classmate of yours! Claude too, he seems like the sort to appreciate a new and interesting treat. Something sweet might help take the edge of pain off of his BROKEN RIBS._

_With lots and lots of love, your beloved big brother who is not petty at all,_

_–Holst_

_P.S. I attached another letter. Please give it to Claude. DON’T snoop Hilda. Your big brother will know. Also please tell him I expect a monthly letter now. Don’t judge me! You must agree with me: he looks like he could use a big brother to write!_

  
  


Hilda found Claude in one of his out-of-sight haunts. All she could see was the tips of his boots dangling off a little alcove a good twenty feet off the ground. He usually only hid in that spot when he was upset about something. Claude had _better_ appreciate how good of a friend she was. She _hated_ climbing stuff. For him though, she hauled herself up the little handholds he once showed her.

“Help me out, you know I’m here!” Judging by Claude’s light flinch, he _hadn’t_ noticed she was struggling to haul herself up next to him. She pulled herself up the rest of the way without his help. “Someone must be off in daydream land.”

Claude quirked a grin that didn’t fool her. “Noodle was distracting me. She’s been needy recently.”

Poor Noodle must be suffering with his and Dimitri’s fight. She reached over to scratch Noodle’s chin, the little wyvern eagerly smashing her face forward. “Aww, poor baby. Are you being neglected? Are your mommy’s broken ribs keeping him from playing with you?”

He just smirked at her in the infuriating way he did. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She (lightly) poked him in the side. Tellingly he shifted away from her. “Okay, you got me. _Cracked_ ribs, it wasn’t serious. All better now! Just a little sore.”

She plopped Holst’s letter to him on his lap. “My big brother wouldn’t tell me any details, ugh. If you hadn’t pissed him off, I wouldn’t know at all.” She poked his cheek. “Congrats Claude, whatever you did exploded all of Holst’s big brotherly instincts. Something about sneaking out without saying goodbye?” She winked.

Claude picked at the corner of the letter until Noodle got up and stretched. She bounced down onto his lap and splayed out on top of the letter, silently begging for a belly-rub. Claude immediately obliged her. “Didn’t know Holst cared so much. Really, he overreacted. It wasn’t anything so—”

“You passed out on the floor.”

Claude’s perfect smile cracked for a tiny second. Then he shook his head, smiling all the while. “I see what you mean about Holst being a worrywart. Guess gossiping runs in the family.”

“I literally complain _all the time_ about him. How did you not see this coming? On his behalf, I’m supposed to check if your ribs have been healed. _Trust me,_ he’s going to bug us both until he gets an answer.”

Claude raised his free hand in surrender. “Marianne’s been an excellent doctor. I’m all healed up.” 

She forced herself not to glare at him. It wasn’t fair of him to burden Marianne. “What do you have against professor Manuela?” His collar was still buttoned up, so he couldn’t be _fully_ healed.

“Nothing, nothing.” He gave Noodle one last pat as she curled up like a cat, covering the letter. “So Holst is pissed at me. I suppose this is full of written yelling. Any ideas how to get back in his good grace?”

She pulled out the bag of weird treats and picked out… something. “Taste test these for me.”

She wanted to slap herself as soon as the words were out of her mouth. Claude leaned back, eyes narrowed on the little pieces of ‘candy’. Claude could get touchy about food. “Are those from Holst?”

She swallowed her trepidation and ate _whatever_ it was. “Huh, actually, not bad. Phew, thought it’d be, like, gross or something. I’m supposed to share them.” Shrugging, she kicked her feet out into the air and looked out over the rose garden. In the distance Cyril was sweeping away like the good little worker he was. Khalid was, as ever, his loyal shadow. “Apparently I said something _again_ in my last letter that Holst scolded me for. I don’t even know what! It’s always _‘Be more open minded’_ and _‘Stop being rude’._ I’m _trying!_ Ugh. It’s so stupid. It’s not my fault Cyril’s so thin-skinned.” She plucked out another weird candy and munched into it.

“Cyril? Thin-skinned? Have you _met_ the kid?”

“He takes everything I say the wrong way!”

“And the candies?” Claude plucked a candy out of the pouch, lifting it up to examine it in the sun. “How is this ‘scolding’ you?”

“I don’t know. I’ll give half of these to Cyril as a peace-offering, I guess. Kinda shocking that these are so good. They’ve got like, a weird aftertaste though. At least they aren’t gross.”

“Why would they be gross?”

“Well, I don’t know what Almyrans eat! It’s weird thinking about them sitting down and eating sweets.”

Claude didn’t immediately reply, staring out across the garden. “Cyril eats candy every so often.”

“Cyril’s a kid. Also, he only eats sweets because of Lysithea.”

“You’re doing it again, you know.”

“Huh?”

“I’m curious.” He didn’t sound curious. “Do you think people outside of Fódlan are inhuman?”

_“Huh?!_ No! Yeesh, where did that come from?!”

He shrugged. “Why would Almyra _not_ have candy? Candy isn’t something only one culture has. Dagda, Sreng, Brigid, Albeina, they’re all just as human as people of Fódlan. Having a sweet tooth isn’t unique.”

“I never said it was! I just, I dunno, I never thought about it!” She threw back her head and groaned. “See, this always happens! I say something innocent and then everyone’s barking down my throat about how I’m being rude! Why should I even bother trying?!”

Noodle flinched at her outburst, tucking her face into Claude’s stomach. He patted her, shaking his head. “I didn’t say anything about you being rude. Was just pointing out a fact.” He finally nibbled into the candy. “Holst sure seems to be rewarding you for whatever ‘slight’ you made.”

She crossed her arms. “You’ve never had to deal with having a brother, you just don’t get it.”

Claude barked a sharp note that resembled a laugh. The sound seemed to startle him as much as her. He cleared his throat and pointed to the visible corner of Holst’s letter under Noodle. “What should I expect from Holst?”

“If you care so much, just open it and read it now. Since you don’t care about my problem.”

He rubbed at the bridge of his brow. “Do you want me to talk about this or not? I tried and you snapped at me. Now I’m changing the subject and you still want to talk about it. What do you want from me?”

She bit her lip and looked away. “Whatever, it doesn’t matter.”

They were interrupted by a crow landing on Claude’s head. His mask-like smile melted into a pout. She shoved a fist over her mouth to stop a laugh. His eyes darted to her, _daring_ her to laugh at him. 

Within a minute the birds on Claude expanded from one to four. Or rather, three on Claude and a small songbird on Noodle. He crossed his arms just in time for another bird to sit in his arms. She couldn’t _help_ her laughter! Until she remembered something: Claude attracted animals when he was upset. Maybe it was just a coincidence… but no, It wasn’t just the birds. Noodle was extra snuggly against Claude out of nowhere, nuzzling her face against his stomach. She coughed as her laughter sputtered away. _Was_ he upset? He looked annoyed for certain. And he _was_ sitting in his mope-spot. With _Claude,_ she couldn’t just come out and ask _‘are you okay’_ because that was a surefire way to get him to clam up. Was he upset about Holst’s letter? Or… her?

“Tell anyone about this and you’ll regret it,” he muttered.

“Claude, we all know about you and your ‘secret’ love of animals.” And the ‘magnetism’ he was ignorant of.

“They’re annoying.”

“Right, right. Want another candy?”

“No. Save the rest for Cyril and Lysithea. Cyril’ll never admit it, but I’m sure a taste of home will be nice. And Lysithea is Lysithea.”

She looked out at Cyril and Khalid. Cyril was still ‘doing work’, but he was also chasing his faithful cat around with his broom, faint laughter drifting up to them on the wind. She pointed to the duo. “Can you just, like, not beat around the bush anymore? What am I doing wrong around Cyril? No one’ll tell me anything unless they’re insulting me.”

Claude didn’t immediately reply. She watched the duo play as Claude’s silence stretched. She turned back to him. He looked thoughtful as he fussed with one of the birds. 

“Claude?”

He sighed. “I suppose it’s hard to change if everyone tells you you’re wrong. I didn’t snap at you though. You took what I said as an attack. With that mindset, you’ll take everything I have to say as an attack. It’s not bad to have been wrong about something. So: are _you_ going to snap at _me_ for giving it to you ‘straight’?” 

This was a rare side of Claude. While not quite ‘open’, he was more honest-ish like this, not smiling for once. He was looking at her now, waiting for a response. She clenched her teeth and did her best to not flinch away. “Yeah, whatever, just don’t be mean about it.”

“Look at it from Cyril’s perspective. He’s in a culture he didn’t grow up with. The majority of people are either hostile to him at worst or don’t bother to look past him being Almyran at best. Imagine if you didn’t have a home or even anyone you could trust not to turn on you for the tiniest of reasons. And everyone around you looks down on you as the ‘runtly little pale Fódlandi’. Wouldn’t be very fun, would it?”

“But I’m not looking down on him! And he _does_ have friends now!”

“What’s his cat’s name?”

“Kalid, duh. What’s that matter?”

“It’s Khalid.”

“That’s what I said!”

He propped his chin on his palm. Another bird landed on him. “You know, even Raphael gets it right now. You’re not taking the time to sit down and learn it. ”

“I’ve tried! It’s hard! It’s just a silly Almyran name, so what? It’s a stupid name anyways. He’s in Fódlan now, why can’t he use a Fódlan name? Ugh, and don’t tell me I’m being rude or something. It’s not like I’d say that to Cyril’s face. ‘Cause _apparently_ there’s something wrong with wanting a _normal_ name for a cat! Just trying to say that stupid name makes me feel like I’m going to spit up phlegm, it’s such a disgusting, gross word. If that’s a common name in Almyra, they must have sore throats all the time. But I guess it’s fitting for Almyrans. A fitting name for that awful prince. Why not just a _‘kah’_ sound instead of a _‘KHHack’_ noise?!” She still didn’t get the _stupid_ sound right. All she managed to do was sound like a cat hacking up a hairball.

“It just takes a little practice. Any of the Golden Deer would be willing to help, I’m sure.” He was back to smiling. “You’re putting too much emphasis on the throat bit, it’s a subtle noise. Little less on the ‘k’ and more on the ‘h’. If it hurts, you’re not doing it right. Try it again, a bit softer.”

“No, it’s not worth my time.” Because if she tried to say it, she was going to _keep_ messing it up, and everyone would hear her mess it up. Better to not try at all.

His smile strained. “It’s a few minutes of your life. For Cyril, it would mean a lot. Doesn’t he deserve to be understood? Doesn’t everyone?”

Something about Claude’s tone caught her attention. _“You’re_ saying that? Mister mystery man himself?”

“It’s a choice for me. When it comes to Cyril, _you’re_ the one who isn’t putting in the effort.”

“That’s what I do! I’m lazy! I don’t _do_ effort, you know this! It’s just a stupid name!” She threw up her hands. One more snide comment from Claude and she was leaving. “Stop expecting so much from me!”

“You’re better than that!” he snapped. She nearly flinched off the ledge at the out-of-character outburst. “Why shouldn’t I expect that from you? I _know_ you’re capable of it. Why can’t you just step out of your own head for two seconds and _understand?_ Why won’t you just _try?”_

She burst to her feet, fists balled at her side. “I _am_ trying! Why does no one see that?! I’m trying so hard, and all I get is disappointment! From you, and the other Deer, and even my own _brother! My brother!_ All because of Cyril and his _stupid_ Almyran baggage!” Claude met her glare with an expressionless mask. He could be as disappointed in her as he wanted, she didn’t care! _This_ was why she never put effort into anything! It was Claude’s stupid fault for expecting her to do the impossible! “No one even _cares,_ Claude! _No one cares!”_

“I know. No one ever does.” His quiet admission snapped her red haze away. He nodded at her, breaking out into his usual grin. “Guess it was ridiculous on my part to try and make you care. Shame on me for trying to get lazy Hilda to do some work.”

“Yeah, shame on you…” she muttered, catching her breath. She didn’t _care_ that he was disappointed in her. She _didn’t._ She crossed her arms and sat back down. “What’s with you anyways? Why do _you_ care?”

“Never said I cared. It’s getting late, we should probably head to bed soon.” He made no move to get up.

“Shut up, you totally care. Cyril’s not some critter for you to adopt.” _That_ earned her a genuine glare. “Cyril’s a good kid. I just don’t care about the Almyran nonsense. Doesn’t he want to put that all behind him anyways? He doesn’t even like Almyra.”

“You won’t listen to me if I try to say anything. You clearly don’t care”

“Is it too much to ask that Almyran stuff stay in Almyra and Fódlan stuff stay in Fódlan? Ugh.”

“Judging by Cyril, _yeah, it is._ Outsiders aren’t evil, Hilda.” He looked away from her, resting his chin on his knees as he looked to the horizon. “Just because someone comes from a different place doesn’t make them a disruption to society. Cyril’s got useful things he learned from Almyra. He’s really good with wyverns, probably better than the monastery’s wyvern master. Not that anyone ever listens to him… still. A lot can be learned from others if you just reach out your hand.”

_Outsiders._ Oh. _Oh Goddess._ She was an idiot. Claude always called himself an outsider. _Claude wasn’t even native to Fódlan!_ No wonder he cared so much! Obviously he couldn’t be from Almyra (he didn’t look anything like an Almyran), but he didn’t really look like he was from Fódlan either. He saw kinship with Cyril and here she was venting to him all the time.

She took him in, in all his bird-covered glory. She knew his mom was a Riegan, so he was half-Fódlan at least. He was elusive about his father though. She could rule out Almyra of course. Dagda was probably out too because Shamir was super pale. Not Albenia or Sreng either, he hated the cold. Brigid maybe? He was tan like Petra. But no, he spoke way better than Petra. Besides, Petra was a princess, so wouldn’t he bow to her and stuff if he was from Brigid?

Noodle nipped at his braid and tugged, cooing loudly. There was the _animal_ thing too. It _had_ to be normal from wherever he came from. After all, the sappy idiot _still_ didn’t realize it was weird. Petra wasn’t good with animals like him, so Brigid was really out. Morfis, maybe? She had no idea what people from Morfis were like. Or maybe he was from some small, weird isolated island?

She heaved a drawn out sigh. “I’ve been kinda a jerk, haven’t I. Claude, look, I’m really sorry. I wasn’t thinking about you. I usually forget you’re not, um, y’know… from around here. I wasn’t meaning _you_ when I said all that stuff.”

“Hey, I never said—”

“Claude. We _all_ know you’re not from Fódlan.” She leaned against him. Claude liked physical comfort, right? He didn’t accidentally stab her, so that was a good sign. “You can trust us Deer to keep your secret, even Lorenz.”

He went tense, eyes sliding away. “Just because my parents never told me stories about—”

_“We know, Claude._ Besides, it’s obvious.” She pointed to Noodle, who was still nibbling on his braid. “Like, wow, totally obvious.”

“Hey, it’s not that weird…” He gently removed his braid from Noodle’s mouth, patting her with one hand and cradling his braid in the other, rolling the metal cap between his fingers. Noodle chirped a weird rhythm at him. She could have slapped herself again. _Their code!_ Was that, like, a different language? _Goddess,_ no wonder he was so upset at her not getting the cat’s name right! He got _so_ upset at her the one time she teased him about the chirps. Was it because she wasn’t ‘saying’ anything right? ‘Khalid’ was one thing. Those weird chirps? There was no _way_ she could say any of those! He better not expect her to try _that_ out… 

She gestured at all of him, specifically the birds _on_ him. “Then there’s your whole _look._ Because it’s _such_ a secret.” Seriously, who was he trying to fool? Getting covered in birds and critters all the time… 

He picked at his poofy pants. “Once again, not _that_ strange.”

She jerked her thumb to Cyril and Khalid, who were heading off to another part of the monastery. “There’s also the cat’s name. In hindsight… ugh, I’m sorry Claude, okay? I’ll keep trying, just… please don’t be mean when I get it wrong.”

He stiffened. “What’s that got to do with this?”

“Yeah, play dumb as long as you like, you _know_ what I’m talking about.” She looked down at the candies on her lap. How far away was Claude’s home? Morfis was a long distance. Wherever he was from, it couldn’t be anywhere nearby. She would have heard if Claude took a trip anywhere. He must not have been home in at least a year now. Claude was projecting onto Cyril. “Here, take the rest of the bag. I’ll just write to Holst to send more for Cyril.” They might not be candies from wherever he was from, but at least they were different? Goddess, she was a horrible friend.

He eyed the candies in his lap like they might bite him. “Why is it that you’re only sharp at the most inconvenient times…”

“Hey!”

He sighed, no fake smile in sight. His shoulders slumped forward. “Guess Holst was right… did he tell you? About me?”

“Holst knows?” Claude _never_ told people about himself.

“Guess that’s a no. He kind of cheated.” He poked at the bag of candies. “So… you figured it out. Where I’m from.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t connect everything sooner.” She rubbed the back of her neck. Here she just ranted at him about not liking ‘outsiders’. She knew how she could make it up to him (or at least _start_ to make it up to him), even if it was the last thing she wanted to do. It was going to be _so_ much effort. “I guess Cyril being accepted is kinda personal for you, huh.”

He shrugged. “Now that you figured it out, what will you do?”

She swatted him. “Hey, you’re still my bestie, and don’t forget it!” She poked his cheek for emphasis. “Just because you grew up somewhere else doesn’t mean that changes! You’re fun to be around. Even if your quirks can be” — _weird and adorably endearing —_ “a little different.” As if to demonstrate her point, a bird hopped off his shoulder and flew away. “Being different isn’t a bad thing! Like you said. If I made you think I’d hate you, um… I’m sorry.” She _hated_ this feeling of vulnerability. If Claude dumped her as a friend here and now, she wouldn’t blame him. “Um, look. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I haven’t really had a lot of friends before. Not real friends like you. And you know how I feel about effort.” She threw up her hands. “Who cares if you grew up in some weird place! I like who you are. You wouldn’t be Claude if you weren’t, y’know, you.”

His sharp stare felt like he could peer into her soul. “You just got done saying that Fódlan should stay Fódlan and outsiders should stay outside.”

“I didn’t mean that about _you_ though! You’re not an outsider among us Golden Deer. You’re a part of us.” She was going about this the wrong way. If anything Claude was closing off _more,_ expression unreadable. “Obviously I’ve got a lot to learn about this whole thing. That’s what Holst keeps saying, but no one’s giving me any direction! Holst tells me to try harder and Cyril just insults me. _You_ never tell me anything either, how am I supposed to figure this all out on my own?!” If it weren’t for the birds, she never would have realized he was upset in the first place!

He just kept _looking_ at her. She didn’t know what else to say! Finally he stopped eyeing her like he was trying to solve a complicated math equation. He leaned back and threw his hands behind his head, eyeing the evening sky.

“Claude? Please say something.”

“I’ll help you if you help me.” He finally looked back at her, smiling. It wasn’t quite like his usual smile. It wasn’t his big genuine one either. It was a smile she’d never seen from him. “I think we can learn a lot from each other. The rest of the class accepted Cyril pretty quick, but not you.”

“Hey! I totally did!”

He ignored her. “There’s some sort of miscommunication, something blocking the way. One party is saying stuff that hurts the other party without realizing it, back and forth, and that builds a cycle of resentment. If I can just isolate where the root of the problem is, then in the future…” he trailed off. 

“Um, in the future? I think you’re overthinking this.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you out. Promise I won’t insult you, and if I do, you need to call me out on it. If I can figure out how to word this, how to _convince_ people, to let them come to their own conclusions…” He rubbed his chin, lowering his head as he started mumbling to himself. The crow on his head squawked and flew away, snapping him out of his spiral.

“And what do you want from me in return?”

He cocked his head in a birdlike manner. “I just told you. You tell me where I rub you the wrong way, and I’ll tailor an explanation that won’t bruise anyone’s ego. With your honest feedback, it’ll give me plenty of insight. In no time at all, I’ll have you no longer accidentally offending people!” He waved his hands in the way he only did when he got excited enough about a topic to not notice. His smile grew, his sharp and calculating gaze aimed at the horizon. “See, this is why it’s good to have different perspectives! I didn’t even think about asking you, too busy thinking about… eh, doesn’t matter. You’re a perfect window into a different mindset than mine, and through that I can understand other people better. Especially hostile ones. Lorenz will be a great test subject too. If I can get _him_ to understand even though he hates me, that means it’s possible for anyone. If I can appease people’s fears, get them to understand—”

Claude rarely went off into his own little world like this, but it happened from time to time. Usually he got excited about poisons or schemes. At some point he would catch himself and stop, grinning with a shake of his head. _“Ah, but you don’t care about any of that,”_ he always tacked on. Every single time she felt bad when he did these little spiels. An animated and excited Claude was a rare scene to cherish. Usually though, he was right. She _really_ did not care about his endless snake-facts.

More guilt weighed on her. _“No one even cares, Claude,”_ she said, not even five minutes ago. Claude cared a lot. This wasn’t just about Cyril. 

“—some feedback, which will be helpful. The best method so far seems to be throwing people together in a safe environment and letting them grow their friendships naturally. But all it takes is a bad egg or two to spoil the whole vat. It’s worked decently for Cyril, yet if there was some sort of primer ahead of time, some education in place, it could go smoother—”

He kept going. She didn’t want to interrupt his rambling but she was totally lost. Claude was _passionate_ about this. He detailed possible lines of schemes. This wasn’t just about getting people to welcome Cyril. He kept going _on_ about people coming together, learning from one another, _disarming their hatred._ As abstractly as he spoke… 

This wasn’t just about Cyril. For Claude, this was personal. For Claude, this was _important._

“—because not everyone has a Cyril to be exposed to, or a Petra or Dedue, and most people in Fódlan never meet any foreigners, so no one knows anything but rumors and stereotypes. What about a story book, detailing adventures of a multicultural band traveling together, subverting stereotypes and staying true to the cultures? That way no one’s being told they’re wrong for how they think. More information about other people, _real_ information. In easily digestible and fun portions. No, not all the common folk can read… Then again, Leicester loves their folktales. What if—”

She cleared her throat. “You’re losing the thread.”

He paused, jaw halfway open in the middle of his sentence. His jaw clicked shut. “Guess I got a bit carried away. Nevermind all that, you don’t care.” _There it was again._ He waved his hand as if to clear the air of his babble. “Gotta start small scale.”

“Sooo… where should I start on appeasing Cyril?” _And appeasing Claude._

He hesitated. “Cyril would appreciate it if you said his cat’s name right.”

_Always that stupid cat!_ She stopped herself from snapping at him. “I never say it right. When I _try,_ it comes out way super wrong, and then everyone will…” she mumbled the rest into her arms.

“‘Then everyone will’ what?”

“Everyone’s gonna laugh at me. Can’t I try something else?”

“I won’t laugh at you,” he stated seriously. “It says a lot if you’re willing to try and get it wrong. It…” he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck, shrugging, “y’know. It makes it look like you… care. I guess.”

She kicked her feet. Why couldn’t Claude care about simple things, like good food or fashion? This was so much work. “And Cyril will appreciate it if I get it right?”

“Definitely, he’ll be blown away.”

“Fine! But you’re going to teach me. And you aren’t allowed to laugh!”

He broke out into such a wide grin that she nearly startled off the ledge from the intensity of it. _He really cared that much?_ “Here, why don’t you try repeating after me…”

She tried. Her cheeks burned as she kept getting it wrong again and again and again. Claude didn’t laugh or tease her. He just patiently encouraged her, eyes crinkling at the edges. If he was anyone else — if he didn’t look so damned happy listening to her mangle her vocal cords — she would have given up.

“Better, better. A little softer this time.”

She tried again and failed. “I’m not sure I can do this.”

“It’s okay. Even if you don’t get it tonight, I’ll get you there. Baby steps. We’ll get this down.”

“Why is _this_ step one…” she hoped _that_ didn’t come off as rude or whatever.

“Cyril deserves to feel like he has a home. The poor kid’s been through enough. I imagine it must be hard to feel like you belong when people give up on trying to pronounce your name. Wouldn’t feel very nice if everyone went around calling you _‘Hoolda’,_ now would it.”

Sure, that would be annoying. _But this was about a cat._ The _cat_ didn’t care if people said its name right. Everyone could say _Cyril_ just fine. Cyril didn’t care that no one said his cat’s name perfectly either! It was always Lysithea being a smarty-pants who corrected everyone. But Claude cared about this, and she cared about _him,_ so she was going along with it until she got it. Unfortunately.

“Khalid.”

“That’s it! Just like that!”

Her cheeks still burned. Claude was _way_ too into this. Getting it right had been somewhat of a fluke, because she kept messing up. Slowly she got it right once every ten times, then once every five, and _finally_ as it was getting dark, she could say it reliably to Claude’s standards. 

“Wasn’t so hard, right? Now you can impress the whole class and Cyril.” He positively _beamed_ at her. It was the smile he usually reserved for his pets when he thought he was alone.

She lightly kicked him. “Hey, don’t downplay my effort! That was totally hard.”

“But you did it.”

“Yeah. I did. Cyril better appreciate me.” She didn’t do it for Cyril though. 

Claude patted her head. “There’s hope for you yet! I bet Holst will be plenty proud of you too. You didn’t waste your time at all — now you have something to write him about.”

She pointed to the letter still in his lap (still mostly covered by a snoozing Noodle). “He’s going to expect a letter back from you too. Just don’t say anything mean about me, got it?”

“Why, I would never.” He side-eyed the letter. “Same goes for you.” His cheer deflated some. “How angry did you say he was again? Are we talking ‘one fit of yelling and done’ or ‘blood-feud for generations’ kind of angry?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Neither. He’s only upset because he’s worried. He does that.”

“Uh-huh…” He still eyed the letter like it was going to explode. Then he flopped his head on her shoulder, scooting closer.

She went rigid as Claude pressed his cheek into her neck. He exhaled, puffing a breath across her throat. Shoulder touches were one thing, but he was _really_ starting to crowd her. He inched closer again, pressing up against her side.

_Claude_ might think this was a friend-thing but it sure didn’t feel like it on her end! She was _not_ interested in him, _he wasn’t interested in her,_ but the mixed signals made her stomach churn. Not in the good way either. She _felt_ him blink, eyelashes dusting her neck. _This is just how he expresses friendship,_ she reminded herself. She tried to untense as Claude snuggled ever so slightly closer. It wasn’t like he was doing anything bad. ‘Snuggling’ was an exaggeration, he was just draping himself over her. Affectionately. It was just a weird cultural difference. A really, really weird difference.

She told him he wasn’t an outsider with her, and she meant it! She would prove it. She just needed to relax. It wasn’t like there was anything wrong with him getting all… _cuddly._ There was no reason for her to feel uncomfortable. It was just Claude! Claude was her bestie! 

She stiffly patted his back.

All at once he froze, then withdrew. He curled his arms around his waist instead, leaning away from her to rest his head against the stone. “My bad. Bad habit,” he murmured. “Just elbow me next time.” The tips of his ears turned a ruddy red.

She rubbed her arm, back to feeling guilty. His embarrassment would have been funny if it hadn't sent him back to moping. Claude _had_ been happy, now he was mopey again. Probably moping about the thing he came to his mope-spot to mope about. Someone wasn’t getting his daily cuddles in and it showed. “So… still no dice with Dimitri?”

“Dice? No, we haven’t played for a while.” That wasn’t what she meant, but whatever. “I don’t need him.”

“You totally miss him though.”

He looked like he was about to deny it. Instead he sighed like a lovesick puppy. “Yeah. I do. I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Sure. Just a heads up, Sylvain was totally digging for information about you and Dimitri earlier. Beware cheesy romance schemes to get you two back together.”

“We haven’t _been_ tog—”

“I know Claude. _I know.”_ She bit her lip. _Ugh,_ all her effort cheering him up amounted to nothing! “Hey, if there’s anything I can do… I mean, so long as it’s not too much work. Just let me know.”

“I just want a little space from him. And I _don’t_ want to talk about this.” He gathered Noodle into his arms. She wondered if he even noticed that he snuggled his forehead against hers before securely curling her around his neck. “I’m going out for a walk.” _Off to snuggle-nap in the forest,_ was what he really meant. 

“Sure. See you in class tomorrow. Try not to be late again.”

He hesitated. “Hey… thanks. For putting in the effort.” And with that he was already crawling down the building.

* * *

_Dear Claude,_

_So. Sneaking out a window and taking a midnight wyvern joyride. All with freshly broken ribs. I’ll admit, I’m impressed. I got up to some wildly irresponsible adventures when I was your age, but never something so knowingly self destructive. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done stupider. Some very, very stupid things. (Totally unrelated, but never dive into a pond from wyvern back. Especially if you’re drunk and took a dumb bet. Turns out if you’re high enough in the air, water won’t break your fall! What a neat fun fact.) I assume you made it back to school alive (and ideally in one piece). Fair warning, Judith is pissed. Duke Riegan took the brunt of it, lucky you._

_But enough of that! I’m sure you’ve received plenty of scolding already. And have even more scolding waiting in the future via Judie. Take some time to rest and relax. Your grandfather filled us in. The best way to keep yourself safe involves sleeping and eating well. I know, it’s awful when someone gets the jump on you while sleeping. It’s much worse for someone to get the jump on you after 3+ days of not sleeping. You might (as a random example) mistake your dumbass friend for an enemy and punch their lights out! Even if he deserved it. Seriously, take it easy. You’re young, but it only takes one bone healing incorrectly to learn how permanent injuries can be. Drink plenty of fluids! Stay hydrated! And if Hilda informs me that you’ve been practicing archery before you’re healed, I will personally drag Judith with me to Garreg Mach and have her inform your teacher. Don’t make me do that! Seriously, Judie is terrifying when she’s in mama-bear mode and I don’t want to be stuck in a carriage with her._

_It’s a shame we didn’t get to chat more. Do you have plans next month for the Alliance Founding Day? Alliance students get a few days off to celebrate. We do things a little different in Goneril territory, I think you’d like our traditions. If your grandfather allows it, you’re welcome to join Hilda and spend your free days with us._

_–Holst_

_P.S. If Hilda didn’t tell you, I expect a monthly letter from you from now on!_

  
  


Claude scratched his head, folding the letter back up. Class would start any time. Plus Lorenz was slinking towards him, no doubt intending to spy on his mail. He tucked the letter into his jacket and enjoyed Lorenz’s frustration.

He had _no clue_ how to reply. He assumed from Hilda’s warnings that Holst was going to threaten him or berate him or _something._ Other than the Judith threat (terrifying, but tame compared to what he expected) and sounding a little disappointed, Holst didn’t seem upset? It wasn’t ‘brotherly’ at all. Where was the boasting and bragging? The belittling and nitpicking? Holst was more like mama than his half-brothers and even that was a poor comparison. 

_Hell,_ Holst ‘punished’ Hilda by giving her Almyran candies. Obviously not a punishment. Unless it was meant to punish him. His heart nearly stopped when Hilda pulled the candies out. Sweets weren’t a favorite of his, but alone in his room he ended up gorging himself on bittersweet nostalgia. More than anything it made him ache for other tastes of his fatherland.

Holst didn’t seem like the kind of person to be cultivating political favor by befriending Claude. The general must be acting out of his sense of guilt towards whatever happened between him and mama. As downright _strange_ as it all was, it worked in his favor. Holst was a powerful ally, whether by guilt or other coercion. 

“Cyril, guess what!”

“Er, hi Hilda. What…?”

Hilda was a surprise. She had a lot further to go but she really was trying her best. As long as she _wanted_ to learn, he was certain she could. For a while there, he wasn’t so sure…

He still couldn’t _believe_ she just… didn’t care he was Almyran. Granted, his observations pinned that more so because she didn’t consider him very Almyran, which wasn’t great. Technically he engineered his current identity to be ‘not very Almyran’, so it was _good_ that she didn’t think of him as Almyran. Still ached in his chest though. But hey, it was progress! His head remained firmly attached to his body. And now he could finally call Hilda out (in private) instead of holding his tongue. Not that he could afford to _really_ let her understand just how much some of her words stung. _She didn’t know any better. She was getting better._

He still felt weird about ‘opening up’ to her. Obviously he didn’t tell her the scope of his dream and how much it mattered to him. She didn’t laugh at him for what he did share. That was a good first step. 

“I learned how to say Khalid correctly!”

“Okay.”

He didn’t need to look up to know she was pouting. “Just okay? I worked real hard on it…”

“So did the rest of us,” Lysithea drawled. “It wasn’t that hard.”

“Whatever. Pspsps, c’mere Khalid! Aww, c’mere you big fluffy baby. Does Khalid want some ear scritches? Yes he does! Good Khalid, that’s a good kitty Khalid.”

He sunk his head into his arms, the tips of his ears burning as Hilda continued to baby-talk the cat. She was insistent on flexing her newly acquired skill. With his name. Maybe he made a mistake.

At least she cared enough to say it right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yo wouldn't it be fucked up to live 16 years of your life business as usual, then traveling somewhere new and there's all these dope trees and everything's so alive and green, but then one day the leaves start changing color like spoiling fruit, then they start falling, and the trees look like they're dying, and _everything_ is dying, and you start freaking out, because _why are the leaves all dying, what does it mean?!_ but then your grumpy grandpa tells you it's normal and you ???? have no choice but to _trust_ that he's right and that stuff will grow back in a few months, and those months are the coldest you've ever experienced, and you're biting your nails the entire time, because what if it never gets warm again? What if stuff _doesn't_ grow back???
> 
> anyways
> 
> This chapter was (for obvious reasons) complicated to write. I want Hilda to _earn_ her lesson. Writing Claude was just as hard as writing Hilda. So many times I wanted him to call Hilda out or get a bit vindictive — but that’s not Claude. Claude has rationalized the hate he’s faced as mostly ignorance. In his canon supports that he ‘talks’ about his past, he doesn’t hold a grudge despite what he's been through. Perhaps this is just my interpretation, but I don't think Claude *ever* holds grudges. He is 100% a 'Forgive and never forget' kind of guy. In this chapter he’s frustrated with Hilda because to him, it doesn’t look like she's trying (and tbf she isn’t trying as hard as she could be). Which is why as soon as Hilda is willing to put in 100%, he flips his mood (and actually starts to trust her a bit). Not that he's willing to admit *he* is the one that this stuff matters to, not Cyril. He always needs that extra shield between him and his point. Then pulls an accidental snuggle and has to strategically retreat, whoops.
> 
> And for all that Hilda is sharp, just like Claude she has her blind spots. Especially when those spots line up with things she’d prefer not to be true. Her Almyran bias is very ‘Almyrans are big and burly warriors who love fighting.’ Claude is cowardly (by Fódlan standards), lithe, and fits basically none of her preconceived notions. Hilda's pov is VERY MUCH biased. The burden shouldn't be on Claude to educate her, but honestly I don't see her doing it without help. It's not even a malicious thing - she's worried about getting it wrong and it's all she's ever really known. She *is* trying but she can't get in the headspace of an 'outsider' in this case.
> 
> I did my best to write a fair portrayal of Hilda, without smoothing out her rough edges.


	26. Two Unlikely Therapists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: Some gore in the first section

Claude was avoiding him.

Claude still visited with Noodle. Dimitri couldn’t take care of Noodle as he was. He left her with Claude. Claude still visited. Claude never stayed. Claude shied away from his touch. Claude no longer gave him affection. Claude was upset with him. He didn’t make it obvious. He still smiled and joked. Sometimes those smiles were genuine. But Claude wouldn’t touch him. He missed Claude. 

It didn’t matter that Claude hated him. It had only been a matter of time, he knew it was bound to happen. It was inevitable that Claude would see the demon beneath his skin. He still loved Claude, no matter what. If he had to protect Claude from afar, he would do so. He didn’t deserve Claude’s warmth. 

He couldn’t sleep. Had his nightmares always been so bad? Claude left him spoiled with pleasant dreams. Without Claude his nightmares ran rampant. He couldn’t close his eyes without the screams of the dead begging for justice.  _ Demanding _ what they were due. Their wails could always be heard, but now they were distant. No longer did phantom hands grasping at his wrists and ankles. They had a new person to haunt.

“Have you made any progress?” He carefully patted Noodle. He couldn’t afford to hurt her. His already poor control was shot. She was plenty cute but he couldn’t focus. His migraine was at a peak. The screams filled his head to the brim. The pressure was so much. When his skull burst, he prayed the bone shards wouldn’t hurt Noodle or Claude. 

“Sorry. I’ve been busy with a different project.”

“The one you won’t tell me about.”

“You don’t need to know every detail about me, Your Highness.” Claude’s words weren’t unkind, but he hated them nonetheless. “I might be chasing a ghost here. Don’t want to waste your time if it ends up going nowhere.”

“A ghost.”  _ Funny. _ Claude was surrounded by ghosts now. Day in and day out, Dimitri’s ghosts clustered around Claude, sucking away his bright light. 

Claude shrugged. Father patted Claude, smearing blood all over his cheek. Claude didn’t notice. He never did. “Nothing for you to worry your princely head about. I can handle this myself. No need to hover.”

“I can help.”

“Maybe, maybe not. Doesn’t matter. I’ve got it handled.”

Glenn gripped Claude’s braid.  _ “You know better. You put all your eggs in one basket. Now the basket’s cracked. What now, Prince Dimitri? What now?” _ Glenn’s other hand curled rotting fingers across Claude’s cheek. Claude turned the page of his book. Every page was soaked in illegible, soggy crimson.

“I don’t regret it. Stay angry if you want. I don’t care. I did nothing wrong.”

For just a flash, Claude’s true feelings showed. Anger. Wrath. Disgust. Hate. Revulsion. All at Dimitri. As he deserved. As quickly as they came, they vanished. “For the last time, I’m not angry at you.” His words were convincing, but Dimitri knew better.

_ “How sweet he lies. Just like you, my son.” _

“All I want is to take a break, Your Princeliness. I’m sore. It’s not a slight against you. My world doesn’t revolve around you.”

He resisted the urge to tear open Claude’s collar and check for any further injury. “I’m not so careless as to hurt you.”

Claude’s easy smile didn’t match his hard eyes. “And I’m not so weak that I need to be coddled. If you’re going to keep pushing, you can say goodnight to Noodle and leave.”

“I’m not pushing you,” he muttered to the ground. Claude was supposed to be  _ his. _ His sweet and dear Claude. He wanted  _ his  _ Claude. He missed  _ his  _ Claude.

_ “You must push him. Make him do what needs to be done. Soon he’ll hear us. When he does, there will be no saving him. Is this what you want, son? You want him begging for silence that he’ll never receive? How selfish you are, to force the demands of the dead to burden him.” _

_ “Punish him. He is misbehaving. Show him his place. Show him who you truly are, Prince Dimitri.  _ **_Punish him._ ** _ Take what you want. He will never give it to you for free.” _

_ “He will drown in our blood.”  _ The hands clawing at Claude bled in torrents. His yellow cape was staining red.  _ “He will drown, and it will be your fault.” _

_ Don’t touch him, _ he wanted to shout. Not Claude. Claude was too pure. Too sacred. 

Noodle nipped at him. Her wailing joined the dead. He patted her again. His step-mother tugged at Claude’s cheek. The soft skin he adored tore off in a chunk, revealing the festering bone of Claude’s jaw.  _ “Pure? You have left him tainted. You have ruined him. We will finish the job. There will be nothing holy left soon.” _

He snapped to replace his step-mother’s hand, covering the gruesome wound with his glove. Thick blood poured down Claude’s forehead, replacing his beautiful tan skin with red, red, red.   


“What are you doing?” He looked into Claude’s furious eyes. Claude hated him. He deserved it. Claude snatched his wrist and pulled it away. Claude snarled at him, blood welling out of his mouth. It dribbled down his chin in a cherry river. His cheek peeled away in flakes. “What part of  _ ‘I want some space’ _ are you not getting?”

He could take Claude into his arms. Hide him away from the ghosts. Claude wouldn’t have a choice. He could force Claude. He knew how Claude liked to be touched and petted, knew how he liked to be held. He could win back  _ his _ dear Claude. He could force Claude to love him back. If he showed his devotion, Claude would understand and welcome him. He could slot his lips over Claude’s and swallow his complaints. He could consume Claude, holy and beautiful Claude, all for himself. Claude’s kiss would cure the pounding in his skull. Claude’s kiss would allow the world to make sense again.

He blinked. Claude wasn’t sneering. He was grinning his fake grin again. Dimitri removed his hand and backed away. “I’m worried about you. Is that so wrong?”

Claude sighed, allowing his fake smile to drop entirely. “Look. Dimitri. I’m not a weakling. I’ve survived this far in life  _ all on my own. _ I’m  _ trying _ to appreciate the sentiment, I really am. I’ll admit it’s nice in moderation but I’m not some damsel for you to sweep off my feet. Now get out of my room.”

He grit his teeth and looked down at the pulsing floor. The carpet thrummed like a heartbeat. It wasn’t like Claude could  _ force _ him out.

_ “Good going, Prince. Go on now, shoo. Let us do our work. He’ll be sobbing for your help within a fortnight.”  _ He looked up to see more of Claude’s flesh peeling away.

“No! Don’t!”

“It’s  _ my _ room, I can kick you out if I want. Get out of my space and stop acting like an entitled prince. We’re  _ equals. _ I thought you respected that, but I guess I was wrong.” Claude glared at him so hard his green eyes fell out of his head. The two black pits in Claude’s peeling face screamed at him.

Glenn unsheathed his sword, pointing the tip at Claude.  _ “Let’s just get this over with. This is what you deserve, Prince Dimitri. You know better than to think anything good can last for one as twisted as yourself.” _

_ “His death is your own fault, son. Perhaps  _ this _ will motivate you. Our suffering isn’t enough.” _

“No! Don’t touch him!” He reached out past Claude’s shoulder, helpless to stop Glenn.

Claude whirled, blank eye sockets passing over the danger. “What the—? Dimitri, there’s nothing there. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Glenn’s blade pierced through Claude’s heart. Warm blood splattered across Dimitri’s cheek. His beloved friend writhed, the rest of his skin sloughing from his face. Another featureless skeleton. Another ghost to haunt him. “No…”

_ “You should have done more, son.” _

“No… father, no, please don’t take him. Please, no… take my life instead, not his, stop this, don’t hurt him…!”

The mockery of Claude’s skull twisted.  _ “Dimitri…?” _

_ “Give us justice. Maybe then you can see him again. Give us justice. Bring us justice! We demand it!” _

The chorus of angry dead were so loud as to shake him. He tried to push Glenn away. His hands caught nothing but blood. He slipped on slick blood as the world heaved and pulsed around him like a dying organ. “I’m sorry father, Glenn, mother, I’m sorry, please stop, stop yelling, please stop yelling! Please just stop yelling!” Blood gushed from his ears, from the walls, from the collapsing floors beneath him.

_ “End our torment! Don’t you love us?! Have you forgotten us?!” _

“No, I promise, I’m trying, I’ll do it! I’ll bring you all peace, I just need more time!  _ Please _ stop yelling, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

_ “Are we so unimportant?!  _ **_Bring us justice! Enact our wrath! We deserve jus—”_ **

Warmth suffused his cheeks. All at once the screaming stopped. There was no blood, no skeletons, no ghosts. Only Claude with wide green eyes. Hale and healthy. Perfect hand on Dimitri’s imperfect cheek. Twisting and swaying side to side like a snake. Claude’s other pristine hand touched his bloodied one, tugging it from his hair. Red and yellow of blood and hair was clenched between his fingers. Claude’s lips moved and spoke words of searing light. His voice was magnificent, his tongue flowing with notes inhuman and holy.

The world heaved and only Claude kept him from crashing through the ground into the underworld. He was in freefall with Claude. He wanted to reach out to Claude, but his divine friend didn’t want his tainted touch. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll do better. I promise. I’ll do better.”

Everything was dark except for Claude. Golden light buzzed at the angle’s fingertips, a halo of blazing antlers fuzzy in the glow of his brilliance. He was untouched by death and decay. Claude’s expression was lost through the light. He was blinding in the most pleasant way. Claude’s cool light snaked around him, binding him safely.

Claude could not be taken by force. He never held any power over the divine being in the first place. Claude was so much more than him. He understood now. For his hubris, even the light of his friend faded away as his mind dissolved.

* * *

“What is it? Is it poison? I don’t recognize the effects. Is it magic? What’s wrong with him?”

“I’m trying to see…”

“Sorry. I’m not helping.” Claude dug a hand through his hair. He needed to let Marianne focus. Pacing wasn’t helping either. He yanked open his medicine drawer and sorted through his antidotes.

It wasn’t snake venom. Probably. He was well versed with most snake venoms and this didn’t match up. He went through the symptoms. Dimitri had been rubbing at his temple a lot, so he probably had a headache. His eye bags were disgustingly dark, so either fatigue or prevention of sleep. Hallucinations. Visual and auditory. Hysteria. Eventual unconsciousness. 

Maybe Dimitri ate some bad mushrooms and tripped. Maybe someone poisoned the prince. Maybe Dimitri was dying, and Claude had been too busy nursing his  _ damned pride  _ to notice!

“He’s okay.”

Slamming his drawer shut he darted back to the bed. “What’s wrong with him?”

Marianne withdrew her hands from Dimitri’s pale forehead. “H-he’s slightly malnourished. I don’t think he’s been eating much recently. O-or drinking much, um, he’s also dehydrated. Th-the main problem, um, he’s sleep deprived. I don’t think he’s slept in days.”

“Marianne, he was” — he swallowed thickly and lowered his voice — “he was hallucinating. Not just a little bit.” He was  _ talking to the dead. Begging them. _

“That can happen without enough sleep. He just needs to rest. I-if something else is wrong, u-um, maybe you should get another opinion. I might be wrong…”

“No, I trust you. It was just intense. Thanks for looking him over.” He was an idiot for not noticing how unwell Dimitri was.  _ No, _ even worse, he  _ had _ noticed. He assumed Dimitri would sort it out on his own.  _ Where was Dedue? _ Wasn’t it the retainer’s job to stop their lord from self-destructing? Who was he kidding, the prince was stubborn. Poor Dedue must be having a rough week.

Noodle whimpered again. She was tucked up under Dimitri’s chin.  _ Poor girl. _ He had been panicked by Dimitri’s collapse, but he couldn’t compare to Noodle. The hysterics she exploded with rivaled her daddy’s own meltdown.

“Um, a-are you okay too?”

He caught himself far too late. He untucked his head from under Marianne’s chin, loosening his hug around her. His bad habit of snuggling up to animals when he was upset and alone apparently applied to Marianne now. This wasn’t even the first time he cozied up to her without realizing. At least she didn’t mind, judging by the confident (for Marianne) circles she rubbed against his back.

“Yeah, I’m good. Nearly had a heart attack at the prospect of the Prince of Faerghus dying on my carpet. That would’ve been a tough one to explain.” He quirked a half-smile. “Maybe this is karma. You forgave me way too easy. I wish he said something.  _ Yes _ I’m aware of how hypocritical that is. I’m learning my lesson.”

Marianne returned a tiny smile of her own. “Good. N-not good that, um, Dimitri is unwell. Just, um, I’m glad that you’ll come to me in the future… u-um, if that was what you meant?”

“Yep, that’s what I meant. Just  _ you _ though, got it? I’m not putting my fate in any random healer’s hands.”

“I guess that’s progress…”

“Nnuhh…” Dimitri tossed his head to the side. He twitched and tensed. Noodle warbled and licked under his chin. Despite Dimitri’s claims of frequent nightmares, he’d never witnessed one from the prince. Only the aftermath when the prince sought out his company.

_ “I fear I will crush you in my sleep. I have been known to grow violent in the throes of my nightmare, unable to tell apart friend from foe.” _

Claude said they would ‘cross that bridge when they came to it’. This was the bridge. Little tearing noises signaled Dimitri’s fingers ripping through the bedsheets. It might not be safe to wake Dimitri. Maybe he should poke him with a long stick…  _ no, _ that would devastate Dimitri to wake up to. It would make him think Claude was afraid. He wasn’t afraid. He was just concerned. He needed a plan.

“No… Glenn… Please, I’m sorry…”

He bit his lip. Dimitri needed help  _ now, _ not in the nebulous future. “You said he was sleep deprived. Should we wake him, or…”  _ subject him to his nightmare. _

Dimitri jerked his head to the side, groaning. He twitched and twisted. Noodle whined loudly and pushed her face against Dimitri’s, causing him to flinch violently. He didn’t seem to be waking up.

“C’mere Noodle…” he scooped her up, much to her distress. “Sorry girl. I don’t think you’re helping right now.” And if Dimitri accidentally hurt her, he’d never forgive himself. 

“I think, um… He sleeps with you a lot.”

He looked away. “Er. Not so much recently.”

“Um… p-please don’t take this the wrong way. B-but maybe he isn’t around you to, um, ‘coddle’ you. M-maybe he’s just using that as an excuse.” Her shoulders hiked up to her cheeks. “When, um, when  _ we _ c-cuddle, um, I never have nightmares. M-maybe he comes to  _ you _ for protection. F-from the nightmares. Or maybe I’m wrong. B-but instead of waking him up… y-you could… sleep with him?”

“You know, that lines up with some stuff he’s said.” He wanted to prove that he didn’t need Dimitri, both to himself and to Dimitri. Obviously he missed their cuddling but Dimitri was annoying him with how much he  _ pushed and pushed. _ He wanted Dimitri to respect him. Still did. He didn’t need the protection Dimitri  _ insisted _ on trying to provide. 

It didn’t occur to him that Dimitri might want him for a selfish reason. 

Dimitri ripped through the bedsheet. The prince’s motive slotted into place and the persistent tension in his shoulders finally eased. “Stay on standby just in case my hand gets crushed.” He passed Noodle off to her. He petted Dimitri’s cheek. The prince groaned, his expression relaxing slightly. Dimitri’s fists unclenched. “It’s just a dream, Dimitri,” he whispered, drawing closer. 

All at once Dimitri snapped into motion. Gloved hands grasped his arms and yanked. He should have expected it. Dimitri pulled him into a tight embrace, gasping a sob against his neck.

“Ribs! Dimitri, my ribs…!” Dimitri was still asleep and didn’t hear him. Experience told him struggling would just make Dimitri squeeze more. His arms were trapped, so he was forced to use his cheek, nuzzling up and down Dimitri’s hair. “It’s okay, you’re okay…” For lack of anything else, he tried humming an old tune his father used to sing to him.

Dimitri’s breathing slowly leveled out. His abused ribs sighed as Dimitri loosened his hold some. He kept humming. His neck was wet.

“Well well, it worked. Maybe I should give up on my future as a duke and become a career kitten.”

He actually got Marianne to smile. “You’re a good friend, Claude. Do you want me to heal your ribs?”

His gut instinct was to say no. They hurt but Dimitri didn’t rebreak anything. Marianne would feel a lot better if he allowed it though. And… well, he trusted Marianne. There wasn’t a downside to her healing the small amount of bruising Dimitri caused.

One physic later and he felt a lot better. Marianne blew out his candles and even tucked them in. Noodle darted between them the moment Marianne let go of her. “Thanks. You’re a good friend too, Marianne. Have a good night.”

He looked down at the head of blond curled into his neck. He  _ knew _ Dimitri didn’t sleep often unless prompted to. Dimitri spoke many, many times in shamed tones of his night terrors and Claude foolishly assumed them to be a thing of the past. 

Was this why Dimitri was so pushy about getting back into his good grace? Dimitri was more prideful than him.  _ Of course _ Dimitri wouldn’t want to admit he needed help. Judging by all the tragedy in Dimitri’s past, his fixation on ‘protection’ was cast in a sickeningly clear light.

“We’ve been talking past each other this whole time, haven’t we.”

“Claude…”

“Shh, stay asleep. Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from the nightmares.”

Dimitri hummed, the slant of his smile pressed into Claude’s neck. He still didn’t like how pushy Dimitri could get, but… ugh, they could  _ talk _ about it. Apparently they needed to. Claude still wanted his space sometimes. 

Somewhere buried in his room was a recipe for an anemone sleep draught. He didn’t want to feel guilty about subjecting Dimitri to nightmares due to not being around. This way he could have his space  _ and _ occasional snuggle time. He’d offer some to Marianne too.

* * *

A soft knock woke him. “Um, Claude, class is in half an hour… just so you know…”

He yawned. Now  _ that _ was a good night’s rest. Tilting his head, Noodle slid off his face easily. She grumbled in her sleep but didn’t wake. “Thanks for the wake-up call,” he replied to Marianne. As tempting as it was to keep sleeping, he couldn’t afford to be late. He had a feeling waking Sleepy-Dimi was going to take a bit. 

He assessed his situation. As ever Dimitri’s arms were strong as steel around him. His legs were somewhat free but overall useless. Wiggling produced the usual effect: Dimitri squeezed him just a little bit tighter, a little bit closer. Best to not push it with his current only-mostly-healed rib-situation.

“Hey. Your Princeliness. Time to wake up.”  _ Nothing. _ “Your Hiiiighness. Those perfect princely grades of yours might start slipping if you don’t wake up. Your country needs you… to go to math class.”  _ Still nothing. _ He started blowing air at sleeping beauty’s face. Blond eyebrows scrunched together, a feat he foolishly assumed meant success. He did not achieve the desired effect of Dimitri’s awakening. Nope, Dimitri shifted him. One second he was staring at Dimitri’s cute face, then his nose was smushed into Dimitri’s neck. Sleepy-Dimi mumbled something and hummed, patting the back of his head.

Claude struggled to tilt his face to the side so he could breathe. “Don’t act so smug. You haven’t won yet.” Wiggling his cold toes, he searched for the bottom opening of Dimitri’s pants with the same determination one might pick a lock. Eventually he found success (and the bonus of sweet Faerghan warmth) as he pressed his freezing feet against Dimitri’s bare ankles. “C’mon prince, better get up…”

Dimitri didn’t react.  _ Aw.  _ At least his feet were warm now. He hiked his feet up a little higher, poking his toes into Dimitri’s defined calves.  _ Stiiiiill nothing. _ He knew Dimitri could be a heavy sleeper after a bout of not-sleeping, but this was ridiculous. Also, apparently Dimitri didn’t shave his legs. Did Faerghans not shave? He gasped out loud. Maybe  _ that _ was the secret to their warmth! Extra fur! It was brilliant! If he stopped shaving, would he be as warm as Dimitri? Eegh, but that would mean he needed to stop shaving. Nope, not happening. Dimitri could be as fuzzy as he wanted, Claude was not about to subject himself to that.

“Pst. Noodle. Help.” She snored at him.  _ “[Wake Daddy][-pleading].” _ She continued to snore. “You’re no help.”

He thumped his head against the underside of Dimitri’s chin. “How do you usually manage to be punctual? This is ridiculous. It must be because Dedue wakes you up with a delicious breakfast. I’ll resort to emergency measures if I have to. Don’t underestimate my schemes. Dimitri. Dimiiiitriiii.  _ Dimitri!  _ Last chance, Dimitri!”

“Claude…”

“Yes! Follow the sound of my voice, oh dream-lost prince! Go into the light! Wakey wakey, Dimitri!”

“Claude… mmm…” His pestering was working! Good, he was running out of schemes. Dimitri shifted slightly, one of his arms moving. If Claude could slip out of Dimitri’s embrace, his options on waking the prince went up significantly.

“Dimitri, Dimitri! Dimi Dimi Dimi! Calling all Dimitri’s, it’s time to go to class! Di… uh, Dimitri?” 

Dimitri was petting his hair now.

“No! Stop, not that, don’t drag me down with you!” He tried to escape Dimitri’s  _ really nice and calming _ pets—the stupid and annoying pets. But he couldn’t move his head much, and Dimitri’s hand kept following him! With  _ really, really  _ nice pets! No matter how much he squirmed he gained no ground. He was  _ losing _ ground as his eyelids struggled to stay open. Dimitri was  _ so _ warm and cozy, and he was being held, and even while asleep Dimitri gave the  _ best _ hair pets.  _ “Dima…!” _

Dimitri inhaled sharply, his petting stuttering. Claude took the opportunity to enact his next escape plan: licking Dimitri’s neck. He was limited on his options! It wasn’t like he could drop a cup of water over Dimitri. His arms were useless, his legs were useless, and his face was trapped. 

“Mmm…” 

_ Great, _ Dimitri didn’t seem to care. “I’ll bite you if you don’t get up. I’ll channel the wrath of an angsty Noodle if you don’t get up right this second,” he muffled into Dimitri’s neck. He headbutted Dimitri’s chin again. “Get  _ up!” _ When even that failed, he enacted his second-to-last resort (his  _ last _ resort being to slam his knee into Dimitri’s morning wood. A sure-fire way to wake up any man… and probably get crushed to death). He refused to bite Dimitri’s neck — the neck was a vulnerable place and he didn’t want to scare Dimitri. For either of their sakes. The collarbone worked just fine.

He nipped lightly first. Predictably that got no reaction. He bit down harder. Dimitri shifted a little, but he didn’t wake. Claude took the plunge and chomped.

Dimitri groaned, long and throaty. Maybe he bit down too hard. Dimitri  _ was _ waking up… probably. The hand around his waist was moving now, clumsily rubbing up and down his back. Sleepy-Dimi  _ really _ loved his cuddles. With no further response, he chomped down on another spot, just as hard.

_ “Claude…!” _

“Yeah, I’m right here, now wake up!” Dimitri was finally stirring. Another bite should do it. He took a moment to eye his two other bites. Nothing too bad, not enough to draw blood. A weird feeling of… pride…? filled his chest. He licked his lips. Maybe two more bites. For symmetry.

This time was different. As soon as he clamped his teeth around skin, the forgotten hand over his head clenched. He muffled a yelp as Dimitri tugged on his hair, the unexpected pain sparking something electric along his spine. His  _ spine, _ that Dimitri was touching up and down like his life depended on it. Another long groan came from Dimitri.

He pulled his mouth away. “Dimitri, it’s just me, hey, you’re safe.” He nuzzled the underside of Dimitri’s chin with his head, sparking a bit more pain from where Dimitri held his hair. “Dimitri, you’re safe, you just  _ got _ to get up.”

“Claude… oh, Claude…” Dimitri  _ finally _ freed his face from neck-prison. Dimitri moved him like he was nothing but a doll (now was  _ not _ the time to be appreciating that!) pulling him up and pushing his face into a pillow. “Claude, missed you, Claude…”

Dimitri kissed his neck. His brain short-circuited. Dimitri didn’t stop with one kiss either. He mouthed all over Claude’s throat with sloppy kiss after sloppy open-mouthed-groan-resembling-a-kiss. 

Or, really, he was just licking Claude’s neck in his sleep. He groaned as Dimitri continued to lick him.  _ Gross. _ He really brought this on himself. Dimitri was  _ asleep, _ of course he wasn’t kissing. Or if he was trying to, it was probably another greeting-kiss like the cheek/forehead kisses that good friends gave each other.

“This is ridiculous. Dim—ah!” Dimitri bit him. Dimitri bit him?! Dimitri  _ bit him! _ “H-hey, no fair! You can’t copy me, D-Dim—ah!”  _ Bite.  _ “Okay, so I know I bit you first, but you don’t have to be so mean Di—mitri!”  _ Bite. _ He clenched his hands into fists on Dimitri’s tunic, the only thing within reach. “Are you gonna bite me every time I say your name, Dim—ammit!” 

Instincts kicked in and logic flew out the window as he struggled against Dimitri. He pushed and kicked and shoved all to no result. He tried to slip out under Dimitri’s arms only for Dimitri to grow ever bolder with his touching and grabbing. No matter what position he tried to slip into, Dimitri and his unfair strength had him beat. It was all the more intense as for once Dimitri wasn’t wearing his gloves. One warm hand curled around his back, the other holding him in place by the rear. Dimitri’s fingers dug into his ass, hard enough that he expected bruises. Heat enveloped his entire body as his brain reminded him of his fantasy about wrestling Dimitri. Of being held down and bitten. This wasn't what he meant! Dimitri’s eyes weren’t even open! He was  _ asleep, _ it didn’t count!

“It’s me, it’s Claude, you’re okay, calm down _Dimaaah!”_ Dimitri grunted into his next bite, sucking at the spot. Every single bite had no  _ right _ to feel so good.

He bit down on a pillow to muffle some sort of noise that wanted out of him.  _ No, not allowed! _ Everything was spiraling out of control. He couldn’t wake Dimitri up, Dimitri couldn’t listen to him, he couldn’t even move freely under his own power! He was going to be late to class! He pressed his lips together and swallowed another unwilling sound. He couldn’t control Dimitri, or the situation, but he’d be damned before he lost control of himself! With every new bite something hot and overwhelming crashed through him. Dimitri was a tempest roaring into him and he had no boat, no sail, no compass, not even a damned map!

_ “Stop! _ Stop, stop, stop!” It was too much, he couldn’t stand being helpless! He needed  _ out, _ he needed it  _ to stop! _

Whatever miracle it was, Sleepy-Dimi  _ listened _ to him. Not that he was let go or anything so easy as that. But Dimitri stopped biting him. He silently gasped into the pillow, struggling to catch his breath without making a sound. He was back to square one of ‘wake up Dimitri’, except he felt all sorts of weird and feverish and scared again.

Out of the corner of his eye, something moved. Noodle was finally awake. She perched next to Dimitri’s ear. She inhaled deeply and screeched. Good for her.

The expected happened.

“Hey there,” he wheezed, “you’re awake. Morning.” From his spot shoved into the mattress he couldn't see anything. He could feel Dimitri on top of him though.  _ Yep. _ Definitely felt that. All of Dimitri’s weight, right on top of him.  _ Hnnngh. _

“N-Noodle?” She cheerfully chirped in reply. “Oh.  _ Oh,  _ Claude!” Dimitri rolled off of him. “I’m so sorry, are you okay?”

He gave a thumbs-up. If class was taught by anyone other than Teach, he’d skip in a heartbeat. Not even out of bed and he was already exhausted. 

“I’m so sorry, I moved without thinking, Noodle gave me quite the fright. I thought we were being attacked.”

“Just attacked by the alarm-wyvern.” She was an  _ awful _ alarm. He reached out and gave her some scritches anyways. 

Dimitri cleared his throat. “Ah… further apologies. This may sound strange, but what am I doing in your bed? Not that I mind! I merely thought…”

“You don’t remember? Eh, not surprising.” He waved a hand, face still against the mattress. “Long story. You miss our cuddling, I miss our cuddling, and sleep is good. Hope you got some good sleep.” He finally sat upright, stretching. “I know we both hate this kind of thing, but we need to have a talk after class. A good talk! To clear up some miscommunication. Ugh. Anyways, that’s going to have to wait because we are going to be late if—”

“Goddess, what happened to your neck?!”

He tried to look down at the marks. He could barely see a couple of the lower ones on his collarbone. He poked around, counting five bites. “Good thing I’ve been going around with my collar closed the past few days. Shouldn’t be hard to hide these.” He pointed to Dimitri. “You’ve got three of your own.” His eyes snapped to the red marks on Dimitri’s collarbone.  _ Oh no. _ He looked away immediately, his heart rate spiking through the roof. It was just a few bite marks. What did it matter? He coughed into his fist. “You’re a royal pain to wake up, by the way.”

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Dimitri pat his neck. “Huh? Whu?”

“How else was I supposed to wake you up? I tried everything!”

“M-my dream w-w-was real?!” Dimitri’s face exploded with crimson.

“If your dream was about me trying to wake you up, then yes.”

“No, you, you were… on my neck… then I…” Dimitri stared wide-eyed at his lap. “You… kept calling my name. A-and called me… D…Dima…?”

“Oh, yeah, because you were biting me when I said your name. Dim ah! Because ow.” He snapped his collar closed and finished getting ready for class. His uniform was wrinkled from sleeping in it, but oh well. He scooped up Noodle and planted her on his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, please forgive me!” Dimitri buried his face in his hands.

“Nothing to forgive, stop that. Like I said, I started it. I’ll figure out some other method for the future. Something that won’t spook your sleepy-self into thinking I’m a threat at least, heh. Yeah, biting wasn’t my best scheme… Anyways, I’ll see you after class, I can  _ not _ be late.” He leaned forward and pecked Dimitri’s forehead to show he held no hard feelings. “Make sure you lock my door when you leave!”

* * *

“And… there!” Fixing his desk wasn’t easy, but now it was good as new! It’d been bugging him for days now. Not as much as Dimitri’s little fit had been bugging him… but that didn’t matter. Well, it  _ did. _ He was working on it. Kinda. Hilda was a tough nut to crack. 

Sylvain sat at his newly repaired desk and stretched. Now what? Dimitri’s love life crashed and burned a lot faster than he expected. The poor guy wasn’t taking it well. Like,  _ ‘muttering to himself and talking to the wall’ _ kind of not taking it well.

It was obvious Dimitri wasn’t sleeping. That itself wasn’t a new bad habit of his. Since  _ at least _ the start of the year Dimitri went in fits and spurts of not sleeping. If that wasn’t obvious enough, the screams he sometimes echoed through the walls told it all. The dorm walls were  _ thick _ too, sound didn’t pass through them unless it was  _ loud.  _ Sylvain would know. He liked it when his lays were loud.

Prince Dimitri’s night terrors and insomnia were old news… sort of. Dimitri in the fits of insomnia was spacy, occasionally staring at spots a little too intensely. But he wasn’t like… crazy. Besides, ever since he and Claude started totally-not-dating, the prince slept more and rarely screamed loud enough to wake the dead. 

Dammit, he was working on his desk so he could  _ stop _ worrying about Dimitri (or any  _ other _ current issue of his). It wasn’t like Sylvain could help! He always screwed everything up, it was what he did. Dimitri made it  _ very _ clear that he didn’t want any help, and that was before he started toting around his resting-murder-face. His non-resting murder-face? His sleep-deprived-scowl.

Dimitri would get over Claude. Not that Sylvain was suicidal enough to say that to his face. His poor desk took the brunt last time. Hell, maybe Dimitri was already over it! There was no soul-shattering scream last night (though, it was possible Dimitri skipped his room altogether for the training ground). And Dimitri didn’t look half as bad in class today! He was even on time instead of being in the classroom before sunrise. Sure, he still looked dazed to the eternal flames and back. But at least he didn’t look so murder-y!

“Sylvain.”

“Ghugh!” He fell off the desk. “Your Highness!”

“Are you alright? Apologies, I thought you heard me.” Dimitri offered him a sheepish hand. “I knocked and everything.”

Holy shit.  _ Normal _ Dimitri! “No problem, it’s all good. Hey, you’re looking in good spirits. Seeing as you’re in my room again… I don’t suppose you’re here for a game of chess.” He winked.

Dimitri hunched his shoulders and rubbed his neck. “I, well, perhaps…? No, I must admit, this isn’t a social call.”

“Relax, relax, take a seat.” He offered a chair (this time pulled away from the desk). “How can the love doctor help you today?”

He settled into the chair, looking down at his lap and messing with his gloves. “First of all, I must apologize for my previous behavior. It was unbecoming of me to lash out at you, no matter what I thought of your advice.” 

“It’s all water under the bridge.”  _ Polite Dimitri!  _ Goddess, did this mean Dimitri got over Claude?

“Sylvain, am I overbearing?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re no Ingrid, that’s for sure. Though you could do with scolding me less often.”

“I only scold you when you refuse to take things seriously.” Dimitri paused, now wringing his hands together. “Claude and I talked. Goddess, I’m such a fool. It’s one of my greatest desires to tuck him into my embrace and protect him from all the evils of the world.”

“I’ve noticed.” Not surprising. Definitely still concerning. The two of them weren’t going to be able to continue their relationship after the academy. If they  _ did, _ it would be a disaster. Given how much Dimitri fell apart when Claude went on his trip,  _ before they had their fight, _ a long-distance relationship wasn’t viable.  _ Also, _ Claude was to be the leader of a  _ foreign nation. _ Protecting him meant protecting his land… which meant Faerghus getting involved in Leicester politics when that was the  _ last _ thing they needed.  _ Especially _ with an ally that gave no guarantee of returned devotion. He held his tongue though.

“I see now that he was hurt by my insistence that he needs to be protected.” He hung his head. “He thought I wasn’t treating him like an equal. He is so much better than me, and once again I have failed to show him my true feelings on the matter.”

_ “Ah, _ so Claude’s not happy being damseled. Makes sense. He told you this?” Getting  _ anything _ out of Claude was like wringing blood from a stone. Though, Dimitri had a significant advantage against Claude. “Is that why you guys got in a fight? Over his bloody cape?”

“Yes, we — his  _ what?!” _ Dimitri snapped to his feet. “His  _ bloody  _ cape? Goddess above, I noticed he stopped wearing it for a few days, but I didn’t know — wait, oh no, dear Goddess, his cape wasn’t bloody when he  _ got back.  _ What happened?! Sylvain, what do you mean?!”

“Easy!” He patted Dimitri’s glove, which was working towards bruising his shoulder. “Claude’s fine, yeah? Deep breaths, Your Highness. Watch yourself.”

Dimitri flinched his hand away. “Tell me what happened. Was this my fault? It must have been my fault. Because of my actions he didn’t trust me to keep him safe! This is all my fault.”

“Whoa, calm down! I don’t even know if it was  _ Claude’s _ blood. In fact, judging by where it stained his cape, he probably used it to mop up someone else’s blood.” Which was concerning for other reasons, and didn’t actually match the bloodstain. Dimitri didn’t need the extra details. “Obviously he used it to, uh, bandage someone.  _ Totally _ not his own blood.”

Dimitri slowly nodded, sinking back into the chair. “I see. You should have led with that! Perhaps he ran across an injured animal…” The prince released a breath and even smiled slightly. “His kindness knows no bounds.”

Infatuated-Dimitri was better than the alternatives, at least. “Yep. So, you and Claude talked, and now everything’s peachy. Claude’s upset that you’re overprotective, and you’re upset he’s, er, underprotected. That sum it up?”

“That and more, but…” He heaved a sigh. “Sylvain, please be honest. Does Claude like me?”

With how morose Dimitri looked, he couldn’t tease. “Yep, Claude’s still head over heels for you.”

Prince Dimitri took a deep breath. “Last night, when we slept together—”

Sylvain made the mistake of choking on his spit, bending over and hacking up a lung. When his airway was clear, he burst out “when you WHAT?!”

“We merely cuddled!” Dimitri defended himself.

“Oh-kay. Alright, continue your story. While you two were being all snuggly-wuggly in bed together…?”

Dimitri audibly swallowed, eyes darting anywhere that wasn’t on him. “There was, ah… an incident. This morning.” The prince locked up, his face already turning pink. He took a deep breath and steeled himself as if he was about to charge onto a battlefield. It all tumbled out in one long, long breath. 

“In my sleep I started kissing his neck, and biting him, and I  _ wanted _ him so bad, Goddess Sylvain the marks I left, I  _ drew blood _ in a few spots, and he kept calling my name, to wake me up, but in my dream I thought he was just saying my name to—to—because he was enjoying it, and the dream was  _ real, _ because there are  _ marks,  _ I left  _ marks _ on him, but it wasn’t real, because he was innocent and friendly, and I accidentally convinced him that good friends kiss each other on the forehead as a goodbye in private, but that was weeks ago and I don’t know how to tell him I  _ lied, _ because when he kisses my cheek it’s the happiest I’ve ever been, even if he doesn’t mean it like  _ I _ mean it, and now I can’t stop thinking about the bites I left on him, how they’re  _ there _ under his collar, and that he wasn’t even angry about them, and what if he liked them? What if he thinks this is another thing friends do? He’s going to hate me when my castle of lies crumbles!” Dimitri all but wheezed the last few words, his face fully red.

Sylvain flat out had  _ not the faintest idea _ how to deal with this. He was just a playboy, a heartbreaker, a self-loathing idiot! Dimitri should have gone to, like,  _ Ingrid _ or someone better versed in matters of the heart or whatever. Wait. No, Ingrid would have been an awful choice, she hates Claude. Ashe? Maybe Ashe.  _ No, _ Ashe would have withered and died against horny-Dimitri’s assault.  _ Mercedes!  _ Mercedes was a judgment-free zone! She could help Dimitri! But Dimitri wasn’t finished.

“He wants to cuddle like before, just not  _ every _ night anymore, but he’s so thoughtful and brilliant, he brewed me a tonic for dreamless sleep, I didn’t even know that was a  _ thing, _ but Claude  _ made it himself, _ for me, because he was worried about me, even though that’s ridiculous, I don’t deserve him at all, I’m a horrible, sinful beast, I nearly, n-nearly, this morning, when he kept saying my name, I almost m-made a mess, I was so hard, I thought he was going to call me out, but he  _ didn’t, _ I don’t think he even  _ noticed, _ he thought I was biting him because I saw him as a threat in my sleep, not because I wanted to—to—” Dimitri doubled over and muffled into his hands, digging marks down his forehead with his nails.

Sylvain whistled. Whistling was much better than panicking over how underqualified he was. There was  _ so much _ to unpack. Sylvain couldn’t even unpack his own issues. He skipped over the relatable  _ ‘horrible, sinful beast’ _ tidbit.  _ Not touching that with a 10-foot pole. _ “How did you convince _ Claude von Riegan, _ one of the smartest guys at the academy, that  _ kissing _ is a friend-thing? I’m impressed. But seriously, you can’t lie to save your life, how did you fool him?” Dimitri  _ really _ should see Mercedes instead of him.

“I just didn’t correct him,” Dimitri miserably said into his palms.

There was  _ no way _ Claude automatically assumed kissing was a friend thing.  _ Unless…  _ unless Claude thought  _ Dimitri _ was the ignorant one! The pieces all fell into place.  _ Obviously _ Claude had to know all the things Dimitri claimed he didn’t. Which meant Claude was yanking Dimitri’s chain.

_ Shit. _ He couldn’t tell that to Dimitri. It would break his heart… or maybe break Sylvain’s skull if the prince didn’t believe him. Not that Dimitri would actually do that. 

Probably.

_ “He doesn’t know how to fake it,” _ Hilda told him earlier in the week.  _ “He’s just as ‘pure’ as your pretty prince. He can’t even pick up on Dimitri’s interest in him.”  _ Both Dimitri and Hilda implied Claude was outright blind to Dimitri’s advances.  _ Or any advances. _ Was it a front? A scheme? It was possible Hilda had been lying to him… but her expression of downright  _ suffering _ had been genuine.

It wasn’t adding up. Claude was brilliant, charming, and above all else  _ mysterious. _ Von Riegan was hiding a vital part of the equation. Sylvain  _ refused _ to believe flirting went over Claude’s head. A guy like him with a face like  _ that _ was catnip to bloodthirsty women. Claude would have been eaten  _ alive _ if he didn’t know how to navigate a few sultry looks. He didn’t have Dimitri’s ‘innocent puppy’ facade to use as a shield. Plenty of people at the academy ‘knew’ intimate details about Claude: his dick size, bed preferences, secret kinks, and all sorts of sored tales ripped straight out of a cheap romance novel. They were the easiest kind of rumors to debunk by spending five minutes around Claude, but with how tightlipped the Alliance noble was about himself, not many people could claim those five minutes.    


The sly, seductive, flirty Claude of public perception had nothing on the  _ real _ Claude, who more and more appeared obtusely innocent. He  _ had _ to know ‘forehead kisses’ were romantic. Any harpy would be able to yank him around if he was  _ that _ naive.  _ What was missing? _ How could a guy make it eighteen years without knowing all the things Claude was ignorant of?

That was it. _ Guy. Eighteen. _

Claude could ride a pegasus. Claude didn’t know Dimitri’s ‘Claude-exclusive’ boners meant anything special.  _ Was he secretly…  _

_...a chick? _

No, wait, that was stupid. Given how much Dimitri slept with Claude (even if only to snuggle), the prince would know. On the other hand… 

_ Was he really eighteen? _ No one knew Claude’s background. Sylvain didn’t pay much attention to Leicester politics, but he knew the rumor mill. For every bad rumor, there was some version of it attached to Claude. That didn’t mean much, as the rumor mill was great at misinformation. Yet every rumor sprouts for a reason.  _ Claude only appeared a year ago. _ Before then, as far as anyone knew, he might as well as  _ never existed.  _ According to an overheard conversation between Lysithea and Lorenz, Claude’s own grandfather hadn’t remembered his birthday. And who was there to confirm if it was his  _ real _ birthday? It was possible he developed early and was much younger than he was passing himself off as. If he won the genetic and environmental lottery, he could be as young as fourteen. Unlikely, but it would explain  _ a lot. _

Hell, running the calculations in his head, it was possible for some sort of theoretical aging spell to exist. That sort of thing would wreak havoc on someone’s body, but for a quick heir needed out of nowhere… 

_ Holy shit. _

“Sylvain  _ please _ say something.”

He cleared his throat. It was all just speculation. He needed to look into a few things. “Still trying to wrap my head around  _ you _ tricking  _ Claude _ into giving you kisses. No one’s ever said you do things by halves…”

“I didn’t mean to!”

“Relax, Your Highness. Relax. There’s a simple solution to your problem. As I said last time, you have  _ got _ to get your libido in check. You said Claude doesn’t want to, heh,  _ cuddle _ every night. Use those nights to let out some steam.”

“At the training grounds? Yes, that’s a good plan.”

_ “No.”  _ He pointed to Dimitri’s crotch. “Better to jerk it in bed.”

Dimitri pressed his knees together. “Sylvain! I will not” — Dimitri squeezed his eyes shut and grit through his teeth —  _ “fantasize about him.  _ Without his consent no less!”

“Sounds like you already do that in your dreams.”

“I regret telling you anything.” At least this time Dimitri didn’t crunch his desk. His Highness just wilted like a thirsty, thirsty plant. “I may not control my dreams, but I  _ do _ control my waking actions. I will not, as you so crudely put,  _ ‘jerk it’ _ to him. He deserves better than that.”

He shrugged. “You wanted my advice.” _ Then again, if Claude was actually lying about his age —  _ “But maybe there’s another solution! Just take it slow with him.  _ Reeeeal _ slow. Other than that, just keep sprinkling in hints. Or throwing boulder sized hints. Hey, he’ll probably figure it out if you propose to him.”

Dimitri rubbed his chin. “Do you think that will work? I suppose I could try it…”

“I was kidding! You don’t even have a ring, don’t be hasty.” He paused. “Er. You…  _ don’t _ have a ring, right?”

Dimitri looked away. “Don’t be ridiculous. That is, I have my mother and father’s rings. Those are back at Fhirdiad. But he deserves far better than me.”

“Your Highness. Prince Dimitri. You are the  _ Crown Prince of Faerghus. _ Claude  _ can’t _ do any better than you.” He slugged Dimitri’s shoulder. “Handsome face, pretty blue eyes, body chiseled from stone — you are the  _ complete _ package.”

Dimitri crossed his arms. “There is more to lov—ahem, more to…  _ caring _ about someone. Than their status. Or looks. Besides, my eyes are nothing compared to his.”

Sylvain mustered every ounce of restraint to  _ not _ tease Dimitri about that last comment. “You’re kind, honorable, and you make a downright cavity-inducing doting father to Her Smallness, Princess Noodle.” He winked. “You can be a little uptight, but Claude’s loosened you up. What more could a fella want?”

“I am a horrible father,” Dimitri whispered to his lap, not a hint of joke or sarcasm. “I’ve been ignoring Noodle all week. She’s been so distressed and I’ve ignored her!”

“Er, to be fair you haven’t really been, uh… doing ‘well’ this week. We all have our off days! I’m sure the little princess understands.”

“That is precisely the issue.” Dimitri worked his jaw silently. Sylvain waited patiently. “I must do better. For their sake and for the sake of my people. I am… Nevermind. I won’t allow such a lapse to happen again.”

Should he direct Dimitri to Mercedes? That was the responsible thing, right? Send him to someone that might actually  _ help? _ Who was he kidding, he never did anything responsible. Dimitri was only talking to him because he needed help with his libido anyways. He’d never  _ actually _ talk to anyone competent about himself. That would mean admitting something was wrong. 

“I’m going to lose it one of these times. I’m going to scare him, or hurt him, and I can’t allow—”

He snapped his fingers in front of Dimitri. “Hey, hey. None of that now, don’t worry so much. Claude’s no paper maiden.”

Dimitri hung his head. “He told me as such himself. But I…” He balled his hands into fists. “All it would take is to get lost in the moment. If I let go, stopped holding back my strength… I might…”

“Your Highness.” He thumbed the recently repaired part of his desk. That itself was proof that Dimitri’s worry held merit. “Claude  _ likes _ that you could snap him in half.” One of the few things about Claude that  _ wasn’t _ a mystery. Nothing quite ruptured Claude’s unflappable composure like Dimitri breaking a steel lance. 

Dimitri jolted, face crimson. “I know that! He  _ shouldn’t _ like it. He  _ should _ be afraid. Of me. I could kill him.”

“Anyone can kill anyone. Which is why you don’t give girls daggers. Or boys. Don’t give Claude a dagger, Dimitri.”

“That was one time…” he muttered, looking aside. “Besides, I am quite certain he would appreciate a dagger.” Remarkably, Dimitri cheered up. “Brilliant. You are brilliant, Sylvain! I’ll ensure he is properly armed to defend himself. Even from me, should he find the need.”

“Uh. That. That’s not what I meant. At all? Like wow. Nowhere near what I was saying.”

Dimitri nodded to himself and stood. “Thank you Sylvain. My head is clear now. You’re a good friend.”

“Uh.”  _ And Dimitri was gone. _ “Cool. You’re welcome? Shit. When Dimitri gets stabbed, Ingrid’s gonna blame  _ me .”  Welp, _ off to the library to investigate age-related spells! That should distract him for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: Wow. I thought Dimitri died on me. This sucks.  
> Marianne:  
> Claude: I KNOW, I'm SORRY. I've learned my lesson!
> 
> Claude: I will bite Dimitri, and he will wake up, and nothing will go wrong  
> Dimitri: *bites back*  
> Claude: Oh no! My kinks!
> 
> Dimitri: *Sexy dream involving Claude*  
> Dimitri: Yep, this checks out as normal.  
> Claude: You fool! I was real the whole time!  
> *Dimitri.exe has crashed*
> 
> Sylvain: I figured it out! Claude is baby!  
> *Dimitri, five minutes ago*: I want to fuck Claude  
> Sylvain: Hm. This might be bad.
> 
> Sylvain & Marianne as therapists:   
> Dimitri: I am sinful, lower than dirt, an awful human being.  
> Sylvain: ...big oof, mood. moving on!  
> Marianne: Um... how, um, how d-does this make you feel? *already crying*  
> Claude: Snuggly. *already snuggling Marianne*
> 
> Thus continues the saga of Claude's relationship goals happening wildly out of order. Bites and hickies usually come after mouth kisses, Claude...  
> (Just to clarify, Claude is *not* underage in this fic. That should be obvious, but I want zero ambiguity about it.)  
> Everyone has different theories about why Claude Is Like That lol and almost none of them are correct. At least Sylvain's are creative? Anyways. It feels on one hand cheap to not actually write Claude/Dimitri's talk, but it would've been redundant info. Neither of them hold a grudge + both of them don't *want* to be fighting, so it wouldn't be an interesting or drama-filled discussion. They just talked for a bit and shared some info the audience already knows about both of them. That's not to say Dimitri's protectiveness/Claude's chafing is fully resolved, but they're working towards a more healthy medium.


	27. 5 Times Khalid got The Talk (+1 Time Claude got The Talk)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cw: Some sex-talk in this chapter. Not the sexy kind tho. Also a lot of xenophobia (for once NOT from Hilda!)   
> A lot of derogatory insults are used this chapter, including both transphobic language and double-standard homophobic language. The worst of it is in the 4th section.

(Age 6)

_“Shamaran, let me watch!”_

_“This is not a lesson for you, imp. You will not sit in on this.”_

_“I want to learn. I’m not just a kid!”_

_“You are within my domain, imp. You will obey me, lest your father learn of your presence here.”_

_“You’d get in lots of trouble too…”_

_“Not even your father can punish me. He knows better. This lesson is not for you. You will not partake. It is a pointless lesson for you. Too young regardless. You will find it boring. Leave this place.”_

_“Fine.”_

“Imp.”

_“I mean, y-yes Shamaran, I understand Shamaran!”_

_He wanted to know. Shamaran may not like him but she was never cruel. Even when he barfed up his guts, or fell into a fevered stupor, she never took advantage of his weakness. The other sisters were the same, but he knew that was only because they didn’t know who he was. Only Shamaran knew him as Khalid._

_Shamaran was the matron of the Poison Maidens — the Vish Kanya. She knew_ everything _about poisons. Sometimes if he did good with his lessons she taught him the coolest poison recipes. He wanted to know everything! But she never had time for him. It was okay. He wasn’t even supposed to be her student. Boys weren’t allowed to join the band of female assassins. He was smart though. He_ wasn’t _joining them, he was just learning! It was like a library. It’d been really hard to convince her. Probably because he was the demon-prince. No one liked him. She never hurt him (that he knew of) whenever he saw her in baba’s court though. Which was almost the same as liking him! One time she threw his juice on the ground, but he was pretty sure it’d been poisoned, so it was good that she did it (even though she glared at him really hard, which was scary)._

_Maybe it was Vish that convinced Shamaran. He brought his own snake, so he was ahead of all the other sisters! He was prepared and everything. Vish was very convincing when she wanted to be, even though she couldn’t talk. He liked to pretend she could sometimes though. There weren’t many people that liked talking to him._

_Or maybe he just annoyed Shamaran enough to let him join. Mama always told him he could talk the ears off a wyvern._

_Shamaran’s lessons were the best._ Useful _lessons. She taught him how to make himself immune to Vish. How to poison another person’s meal without them noticing. To gain a target’s trust by drinking from a poisoned cup (poison he was already immune to). To persuade others into lowering their guard._

 _To defend himself by whatever means necessary._ To survive. _Shamaran wasn’t like Nader. Nader told him he’d be ‘big and strong someday’ and that he wasn’t ready to use a bow or sword until that day came. It was stupid, because people weren’t going to wait until he was ‘big enough’ to hurt him. Shamaran didn’t care how little he was. She taught him how to win no matter how big his enemy was. She taught him to aim for the eyes when he could reach. How to trip an adult. To use his environment. If a man was trying to hurt him, she taught him how to grab him by his dangly bits and yank with all his might._

 _Nader got him in big trouble for that last one. He wasn’t supposed to use any of Shamaran’s techniques on friends. Mama thought it was really funny though. For a week afterwards she called the general_ ‘Nader the undefeated, except by my six-year-old.’” _None of his half-brothers ever beat Nader! He still got in a lot of trouble and had to promise to never use the move on Nader ever again._

 _Most of all Shamaran taught him to recognize danger everywhere. Especially in spots he thought were safe. He couldn’t trust anyone (except maybe mama, baba, and Nader). He couldn’t trust_ her _either. Not anyone, even if they were nice to him._ Especially _if they were nice to him._

_Shamaran let him sit in on almost all of her lessons. She taught the sisters about tons of things, more than just survival and defense. Lessons on how to fool a man, to slither past his defenses, to kill him. To blackmail him. To destroy him in any and every way imaginable. The sisters learned so they too could one day kill and manipulate their enemies. Khalid learned to survive. Khalid learned so he would never be a victim of theirs or those like them._

_He hated it when Shamaran told him he couldn’t listen to her lessons. He_ needed _those secrets. Shamaran always said eavesdropping was vital to survival. He agreed, because sometimes people talked about killing him. Shamaran wasn’t going to kill him (she could have if she wanted to), but he still wanted to know what the lesson was about._

_He snuck into the room and hid himself in an empty basket._

_“As soon as the man gives into lust, he is yours. Be he poor or rich, wise or dull… peasant, lord, or king.” Shamaran looked at his hiding spot. He froze, not daring to breathe. She stared at him, then continued with the lesson. “Snare a man with your beauty and he is yours to do with as you please. With fresh venom in the bloodstream, a mere lick to a man’s most intimate place is enough to leave him helpless and dying.” ‘Most intimate place’? The neck? “Allow the man to take you, and he will be dead within minutes. This is the most potent way to kill a man. In this, through bypassing his digestive system, his body will have no defense left.”_

_She wasn’t looking at him anymore but he glared at her anyways. The sisters didn’t seem confused like him. If someone ‘took’ him, then what? He’d been kidnapped plenty of times. People didn’t drop dead just by grabbing him. As cool as Shamaran’s lessons were, sometimes she didn’t make any sense. She liked riddles that the sisters always understood but he didn’t._

_Shamaran disrobed and guided the other sisters to as well. This wasn’t the first time he’d seen them all naked. Shamaran made sure he knew the differences between a girl and a boy. She showed him where a girl’s weak points were and used him to show the sisters where a boy’s weak points were. Sometimes she had the sisters practice ‘talking’ to him. He was supposed to ‘resist temptation’ and they were supposed to ‘lure’ him somewhere. It was really easy because the sisters always talked funny and acted weird. He always won, of course. Usually. Some of the sisters just talked with him. Like he was a normal boy. Those times were nice. Sometimes they let him talk as much as he wanted and actually listened to him. None of the sisters trusted him, because he was a boy, but some of them were like his friends. Those were the sisters he had to watch out for the most._

_Shamaran continued her lesson, describing and demonstrating how to seduce men. Now he understood why he wasn’t allowed to watch — it was a waste of his time. She was right. He’d be groaning with boredom if he wasn’t hiding._

_He decided to play with Vish instead._

_“Let this be an important lesson in awareness of one’s surroundings.”_

_“Ah!” His basket tumbled over. Shamaran stood above him, disappointed. “Um, hi.” Half the sisters laughed at him. The other half glared._

_“And what are you doing in here, peeping boy?” One of the sisters snapped at him._

_“Cut baby-brother a break. He’s like, five. He’s seen us all naked before.”_

_“I told you, I’m_ six! _And I was just playing with my snake…” He held up his arm and let his sleeve slip to show Vish. For some reason, everyone in the room thought that was hilarious. He tried to slink back into the basket to hide._

_Shamaran cleared her throat, silencing everyone. “Take caution with men like the imp. A man ‘playing with his snake’” — more giggles — “is not so dangerous as one uninterested enough in a woman’s body to play with a literal snake instead.”_

_“But matron, baby-brother is easy to distract! I once lured him into a room with a bottle of nightshade extract! Even locked the door without him noticing!”_

_“That only happened once!”_

_“Once is all it takes, imp.” Shamaran pulled him out of the basket by the scruff of his shirt and tossed him roughly onto an empty cushion._

_“You better listen to her,” one of the nicer sisters told him. “You’re childsplay to fool. Who needs seduction when all it takes to get you is a conversation about bugs.”_

_“Ugh, when he hits puberty he’ll be in so much trouble,” one of the older sisters said. “Flirting goes over his head_ now, _but just wait.”_

 _“If he’s smart, he’ll translate flirting into danger for the rest of his life. No one will ever flirt with someone like_ him _unless there’s a motive.”_

_“Not like snake-face will stick around that long. Soon as he’s finished the inoculation process he won’t be allowed here anymore. That’s what the matron said! In a month or two we’ll never have to see him again.”_

_He looked down at the ground, picking at his cushion. He was going to miss having friends that could talk. At least he had Ama. And Vish. Maybe if he begged extra,_ extra _hard, Vish would finally talk to him. He kept trying to teach her, but she refused to repeat him unless it was hissing… He knew she couldn’t talk. But if he kept trying, maybe his wish would come true._

 _The sister with pink eyes and pale skin slapped the back of his head. “Head up, poison-eyes! The matron_ just _called you out for inattention.” She’d been nice to him at first, because they were the same. But then the other sisters picked on her for being nice to him. Now she was extra mean._

_“Sorry.”_

_“Can’t believe baby-brother hasn’t been shanked on the streets yet. He’s so careless.”_

_“‘M not.”_

_He did his best to pay attention to the rest of the lesson. He didn’t really get it. Like most of the more ‘technical’ lectures, he didn’t end up remembering much of it._

_“D’you wanna play a game with me?” he asked a group of girls as soon as the lesson ended. “Please?”_

_“Ugh. Go away baby-brother. We don’t have time for you.”_

_“Now now, be nice.” One of the sisters knelt down and patted his head. “I’ll play a game with you, poison-eyes. How about hide and seek? Go hide, and I’ll come find you.”_

_“Really?!” No one ever offered to play with him! But he needed to be careful. He_ hated _it when the sisters locked him in a room all day (which usually meant he missed a meal or three). He’d be okay so long as he didn’t hide in a room. “Yeah!”_

 _“No,” another sister snapped. She glared at him. “You’re so gullible. And_ you, _that was cruel. He would’ve been waiting hours before he realized you weren’t coming for him.”_

_“Hey! Don’t out me!”_

_The second sister pushed him away. “Go somewhere else. Lessons are over today. And by the God of fools himself, grow a brain. You’re lucky I took pity on you.”_

_“Yes sister,” he murmured, head bowed. “Sorry.”_

_“You mean ‘thank you sister’. Now go away.”_

_She was right, it’d been stupid to get his hopes up. He’d go play with wyverns instead. Flying was way funner than whatever games the sisters played when he wasn’t around. Even though wyverns couldn’t talk back, and didn’t care about what he had to say, and couldn’t answer his questions…_

_“You’re better than the sisters,” he whispered to Vish as he left the alleyway, making his way towards the outskirts of the town. “I don’t need any of them, just you. You’re_ my _personal Vishkanya, ‘cause you keep the bad people away.” She darted out her tongue. “Exactly, you’re the best. What’cha wanna do?”_

_He cleared his throat and hissed like a snake, speaking in a squeaky voice. “We should go sssolve a myssstery together!”_

_“Yeah! Great idea Vish! And the wyvern’s can help us out! What’ll we solve today?”_

_He paused to think about it. There were so many questions to choose from. “Let’sss learn which mouse isss the tasstiest!”_

_“Silly Vish, I don’t eat mice! Let’s go ask the wyverns if they have a favorite food. Everyone’s got a favorite!”_

_“Good idea, Khalid. Ama can join usss too!”_

_He took off sprinting down the road. The sooner he got to the mountains, the more time he could spend with his_ real friends. _He’d heard Ama’s flight calls off in the distance a while ago, so she was keeping an eye on him like usual. With her and Vish, he didn’t need_ or _want anyone else! Except for the wyverns of course. He wanted to tell_ someone _about the cool book he just finished, even if they couldn't understand him._ _Maybe he’d spend the night with them…_

* * *

_(Age 8)_

_If Ama wasn’t busy sitting on her clutch, he would have pulled her into his lap. He settled for pouting at her and presenting his newest gift. Situated under a shaded lip of the roof inside a deep inlet on top of the palace, her nest wasn’t easy to drag pillows up to. As tedious as it was, he’d been scaling the walls for years._

_She picked and poked at the fabric before determining it acceptable. As she began to tear at it, he pulled out a knife to help out. The feathers spilled into her nest. While she worked to mat the feathers into the rest of the nest flooring, he tore the rest of the pillow into thin strips. Just how Ama liked it. She repaired and strengthened her nest every few years, but this was an important year. She used to use grass as filler but over the years she got spoiled and grew to like using his pillows. Only_ **his** _pillows though, to his annoyance. He went through a lot of pillows._

_“Ama[Feed][-?]” He gestured to the other bag he brought. Inside was a pile of meat-scraps from the kitchen._

_She ruffled her feathers, tilting her beak up and snapping at the air._

_“[Prideful bird][-foolish]. Ama[Feed][-now].” He opened up the bag and dangled a strip of raw hare. She turned her head away from him, eyes on the horizon. “Ama[Feed][-now].” He flopped the meat over her beak._

_One eye snapped to him as she glared in the way only a bird or his mama could manage. She shook her head and let the meat fall outside her nest. It tumbled off the ledge._

_He fiddled with the bag. Ama needed to eat. It’d been days since she last ate. Days since her mate disappeared. Khalid knew birds mated differently than humans even if he didn’t understand the specifics. He’d witnessed enough_ other _birds with mates to know something was wrong. Ama’s mate was supposed to bring her food. Ama’s mate was supposed to help her out. She wasn’t supposed to do_ all _the incubating, just most of it._

_“[Mate][-not here]. [Mate (is) dead][-sad].” It was the only reason he could think of._

_Ama crowed lowly. She didn’t argue._

_“Ama[Feed][-pleading].” He hugged her. After a minute or so, she returned his hug in her typical manner: curling her wings around his head. “[-worried],” he whistled._

_She lightly nipped his ear. She didn’t stop him from preening her feathers though. She’d been letting her mate do them for the past few months or so. He’d been happy for her and her mate, but he had to admit he missed doing her feathers._

_Not for the first time, he wondered if it was his fault. Ama wasn’t_ old _old, but she was old to only just now get a mate. If he wasn’t around, she’d probably have multiple adult babies by now. All the years spent watching over him and keeping him company didn’t leave her with time to entertain a mate. This year was supposed to be different._

_He finished all her feathers. She huffed, then nudged at him with her head to back up. He retreated back to his own ‘nest’. The blanket-and-pillow pile was nestled up against the wall no more than ten feet away from Ama’s. She used to steal his pillows from his nest until she stole his favorite pillow and ripped it to shreds, making him cry (he’d been four, it was a big deal at the time). Now she only took what he gave her (and sometimes borrowed his nest-pillows, but never tore them up)._

_Sitting at the edge of his nest, dangling his feet off the ledge, he looked out across the sky. Six months ago he’d watched Ama and her mate court each other from this exact spot. Ama’s mate carried a big rock in his talons and dropped it. Then he’d shot into a dive and caught it._ Sure, _the bird had been courting Ama and not Khalid, but Khalid had been_ very _impressed. Ama hadn’t been. She kept forcing him to catch bigger and bigger rocks. The smaller bird succeeded every time though. The last courtship display they performed had been to lock their talons together and plummet in freefall. He’d nearly fallen off the ledge, white-knuckling the stonework as the duo fell and fell. He’d seen wyverns do it plenty of times before with arguably more impressive and risky displays. This was_ Ama _though._

 _Then they mated, then Ama laid her clutch, then he disappeared. After all the courtship, the_ trust, _the only explanation was that he died. Golden eagles mate for life. He wouldn’t have just left her and her clutch. Not unless he was dead. Or unless he hated Khalid. Ama’s mate_ seemed _to like him, but it was always a possibility that he’d been annoyed by Ama’s constant clingy and chatty human._

 _Two specs danced at the edge of the horizon, barely visible. The dots swooped and swerved in the patterns of a wyvern mating dance. One time he tried to hitch a ride during a mating dance, but that didn’t work. He wanted to join in too. The flying was beautiful, indescribable. It looked like_ so much _fun. The wyverns wove intricate designs together, flying like they shared the same mind. Like two halves to one whole. Companions, loyal to one another forever and ever._

_The mid-section of the dance began, the two dots colliding into each other. The aerial combat was his least favorite part, but it made sense. No one wanted a weak mate or a weak friend. It was a matter of survival. Humans were the same way._

_Rustling caught his attention. Ama clawed open the bag he brought for her, pulling out a chunk of meat and swallowing it in one bite._ Good. _At least that was something._

_“Think your babies will like me, Ama?” He made sure to ask the question in human tongue. No need to worry her with his petty concerns. “Don’t worry Ama. I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly. I’ve seen lots of births. And your eggs are already out, so the hardest part’s already over.”_

_“[Silly child][-fussy]”_

_“Nope. Ama[-fussy]” There he went again, blabbing away. Poor Ama must be sick of him talking to her day in and day out. Wasn't like he had anyone else to talk to._

_“[Come here, Silly child][-fond]”_

_He obliged her, pulling a blanket around his shoulders as he returned to her nest. When he was_ really _little he used to crawl into her nest with her. Now he was too big and sometimes broke her branches (plus, the nest wasn’t very comfortable). He curled up around it, resting his head inside the nest. If it weren’t for her eggs he could probably still fit inside if he squeezed._

_She rubbed the top of her beak against his cheek. “[Child][-fed][-?]”_

_“[Yes][-exasperated]” Ever since she got stuck on egg-duty she’d been touchy about him eating. Probably because for once she couldn’t watch over him._

_She went back to eating and he went back to watching the distant wyverns. Wyvern courtship never got old. The two dots parted, twisting together in a spiral upward towards the heavens. The third and final part of the ritual. His favorite part._

_The two dots stopped, came together as one, and plummeted. Each wyvern extended a single wing and just like that two became one. The pair of lovers relied on and trusted each other unconditionally. Not for the first time and certainly not the last, jealousy tugged at his heart. He’d never be able to trust anyone of his own species like that. He’d never have a mate like that…_

_Ama’s feathers brushed his cheek, silently telling him to come closer. It was an awkward fit but they made it work. She curled one wing around his head and began preening his hair. She was right, it was a perfect time to take a nap._

_He didn’t need anyone else. Ama was more than enough for him. In a few years he would have his own egg to raise. His lips curled just imagining the future. Him, Ama, her three chicks, and his loyal wyvern shadow. One big, happy family._

* * *

(Age 11)

 _Silently he lowered the window shut behind him._ There. _Back in time for dinner and everything. He just needed to wash up and no one would ever know he snuck out into the mountains again._

_“Khalid, I won’t ask again. You cannot hide all the time.”_

_He nearly bit through his tongue as he bit back a shriek._ Why was baba at his door?! _He brushed down his clothes to straighten them up, accidently smearing a mud stain all over his shirt. He patted back his hair, pine needles falling to the floor. “I’m not hiding,” he called back, his voice cracking._

_“Is that so? What do you call the past minute then?” Baba hadn’t stormed into his room, so whatever he wanted couldn’t be too bad. His voice was amused, meaning he was in a good mood, which was an even better sign. “Now that you’ve hidden whatever you don’t wish me to see, may I come in?”_

_His eye darted to his desk, heart jamming past his throat._ Nothing. _Thank the Gods he actually cleaned up last time. He didn’t want baba knowing about the worst of his collection. Most of his herbs weren’t too deadly, but the deathcaps were pushing it. “Sure, come in. I’ve got nothing to hide.” He casually plopped onto his bed and pulled out the first book he found, turning to a random page. Baba entered and shut the door behind him._ Uh-oh, private conversation time. _At least he didn’t look angry. In fact, he looked almost nervous. “What did you do to upset mama this time?” That was the only time he ever looked nervous._

 _Baba chuckled. “Nothing yet. How is your book, son?” His nervousness vanished as his grin multiplied. “A new reading technique? Is_ ‘Rites of Meditation’ _more enlightening to read upside-down?”_

Blast. _“Nah, just teaching myself to read upside-down. It’s a useful skill.”_

_“Of course, of course. And the reason you’re wearing your boots on your bed…?”_

_“Cold feet.”_

_Baba shook his head. “And I suppose the forest in your hair is all from Ama.”_

_“Absolutely. You know how she is.”_

_Baba sat down on the bed next to him. “Go ahead and put your book away, son. You and I need to have a talk.”_

_“I’m at a really interesting part, can it wait?” Baba clasped his shoulder. “Guess not.” This was it. He’d been dreading this conversation ever since his tenth birthday. A prince_ always _had an onyx-wyvern. That he didn’t meant he was weak. After all, how could a king rule if he couldn’t even keep a wyvern alive? Never mind the fact he never got a chance to begin with. He knew what people said. It was a bad omen. It was his fault. Never mind the fact he wasn’t even there._ Shapur _was the one that let the border be breached._ Shapur _was the one that failed to stop the Fódlandi from burning the country-side. Yet everyone blamed him, because he was the one that was trying to break ‘fate’. Obviously it was_ his _fault the village that supplied onyx-wyvern eggs was wiped off the map._

_“Don’t look so glum. It’s nothing bad.”_

_“Whatever Mazdak said I did, I didn’t do it.” Baba never listened to the rumors, but the push back on this one was bigger than Khalid had ever seen. It’d been almost two years now and still people were vocal about calling for his disinheritance. All because of a_ stupid _bad omen that wasn’t an omen at all. It was Shapur’s fault that he didn’t have a wyvern, not_ fate _or any God._

_Baba cleared his throat. “Eleven years old already. Time sure flies.”_

_“I guess. I’ve been eleven for months baba.”_

_“Of course, I haven’t forgotten. Eleven already. Soon you’ll be a man.” He paused, turning to look out the window instead. “There are some things you will need to know about growing. You will start experiencing some changes soon. Maybe you already have! Don’t worry son, puberty is a part of life.”_

_“Yeah…?” Was this all that baba wanted to talk about? “I already know that stuff. I’ll get bigger and stronger, can impregnate women, and my hair will change color.”_

_Baba paused, then cleared his throat. “I… suppose those first two are correct. Your hair won’t change.”_

_“Oh. But Ama’s kid went from white to gold.” The only one that survived did, at least._

_“Ama is an eagle. You are not.”_

_“Duh. Whatever, I got two out of three right.”_

_“Ahem. There is more to puberty, my son. You’ll find hair growing in new places—”_

_“I_ was _right!”_

_“Same color.”_

_“Aw.”_

_“You’ll find yourself oddly sweaty. It’s natural. You may find that women, or even men, catch your eye differently. You may find yourself wanting to do new activities.”_

_“Like mating.” It was_ so _dumb that humans didn’t court each other with flight dances like birds and wyverns. What could be more interesting than that? What little he knew about traditional courting was_ boring. _Flaunting his wealth (rather, his father’s wealth), wrestling, battles for dominance (that he as a prince would be expected to always win), and all sorts of weird nonsense._

 _“Yes, like — Khalid! Ahem. Yes. That.” Baba rubbed the back of his neck. “You are not allowed to… ‘mate’ until you are older. I know how you think rules are mere suggestions, but I_ recommend _you hold off on ‘mating’ for a long time.” Judging by baba’s hard look, by ‘recommend’ he meant ‘order’. “There are very good reasons to wait.”_

_He shrugged. “Fine by me. Are you done yet? You interrupted my book.”_

_“This is very important, Khalid. You have enough to deal with without adding a kid into the mix. Be sure to think about that if you ever feel the urge to, er, mate.”_

_“Okay,_ anything else?” _he snapped. He already helped Ama raise her kid. That alone taught him that he would never, ever have a kid. Or at least not more than one. Adwi left the nest a year ago. He loved that bird but he couldn’t say he liked Adwi, exactly. Roughly a week after the last of the three eggs hatched, he climbed up to the nest to sneak a treat to the chicks while Ama was out. Only Adwi greeted him because his other two siblings were dead. Ama hadn’t been surprised. He’d later read in a book it was common for eagle chicks to kill their weaker siblings. So much for his planned family._

 _“Er. I suppose not.” Usually baba would’ve barked at him for snapping, maybe punishing him. He wasn’t going to complain though. “Your mother can fill you in on the rest.”_ Great. _“Enjoy the rest of your book, son.”_

_As soon as baba left, he flopped face-first into his pillow. At least baba didn’t disinherit him. Apparently Ama still counted enough as a ‘good omen’ to outweigh the ‘bad omen’. Not that anyone but baba and mama considered her a good omen when attached to him._

_Less than a minute later mama opened his door without even knocking. “Khalid.”_

_“Hi mama.”_

_“If you stick your penis in a woman, she might get pregnant. Don’t do that.” Delivered with the same ceremony as commanding a battalion._ Yep, _that was mama._

_“‘Kay.” He gave her a thumbs-up._

_Mama must have been satisfied with that. She gave a single nod and shut his door._

_“Hold on.”_ Never mind. _She_ almost _shut his door. “Khalid! Look at all the mud you tracked onto your bed! Take those boots off right this instant. Explain to me why you’re covered in mud head to toe,_ Khalid.” 

_He yanked a blanket to cover himself up. “It’s not what it looks like, I can explain!”_

_She slammed his door open and marched into his room, yanking him off the bed by his ear. “How many times do I have to tell you to wash up before crawling into bed! Ama’s ‘baths’ don’t count, and neither does getting a tongue bath! It’s a miracle your precious books aren’t smeared in Goddess-only-knows what.”_

_“Baba didn’t mind!”_

_“He’s in trouble now too! Dirty boys, the both of you. It’s far past time you learn the importance of hygiene.” She dragged him outside and chucked him into the cold pond, not letting him out until he scrubbed all the mud off his clothes._

* * *

_(Age 13)_

_“E-excuse me, P-Prince Khalid?” The meek voice rang every alarm in his head. “U-um, h-here, this is for you.”_

_He wielded his smile carefully, knowing the snake couldn’t be allowed to learn he knew what she was. “A letter and a flower? I think you’ve got the wrong prince.”_

_She shook her head, eyes on the ground as she crafted a tiny sheepish smile. “No, for you. I don’t believe any of the rumors about you! If you would accept my gift, I’ll let you have me any way you wish. I’m not like other girls! I don’t care who the queen is. I think you’re beautiful. We’re the same, look at my eyes!” She feigned a deep breath as if to gather her courage. Then she looked up, finally locking their eyes together._ Pink. 

_He knew this game. Plenty of Shamaran’s more specific lessons never stuck in his memory, but he knew enough. He made sure to look appropriately shocked. “You’re like me,” he quietly gasped._

_She nodded. He could see it in her eyes, the growing sense that something was wrong. Still, she pressed forward. “Yes. I understand you, Your Highness. Please, I beg you to accept my gift.” Here is where she batted her lashes, nibbling on her glossy lip. “I’ve never seen a man like you before. So handsome, and strong, and smart.” She tried to brush his forearm but he refused to allow it, casually stepping to the side. “I know what they say about you, that you’re weak. I think that’s a lie. Won’t you show me? Our blood may not be pure, but in both of our souls are mighty Almyrans.”_

_He went on the offensive, sliding around her. He placed his hand up on her shoulder — she was taller than him, older by at least half a decade. She was full grown and fully developed. He was thirteen. She could scrunch her shoulders together and hunch her head as much as she wanted — he knew regardless. He knew her tricks. “And who are you? I can’t imagine anyone with those eyes holds any status in my father’s court.” It hurt to use that weakness, but he knew she wasn’t like him at all._

_“Maybe not,” she whispered. “You need not tell anyone of our relationship.” She tried to face him, but he stayed at her back. “I can be your little secret, Your Highness. Aren’t you curious what it feels like to lay with a woman?” Those last words were purred in poison. “I understand you. Your blood doesn’t define you. Won’t you take my hand? Prove you are no coward.”_

_He clucked his tongue. Standing on his toes, he whispered in her ear. “You’re bad at this.” He traced her chin, slowly tilting her face towards his. She pursed her lips, eyes sliding half shut. She leaned forward, stopped by his hand on her lips. She pouted, her eyes focused on his lips. Then she looked up, a silent question._

_A sharp intake, eyes blown wide, color draining to leave her extra pale. She jerked away from him._ “Poison-eyes.”

 _He winked, pressing a finger to his lips. “Shamaran won’t be happy when she learns you accepted a bribe against the royal family.” The Vish Kanya were never to go against the seated king. “I recommend you tell your_ sisters _not to waste their time with me.”_

_She bolted away as if fleeing for her life. It was for the best. Khalid could easily call the guards on her._

_“Now that was impressive!” Pejman declared, slowly clapping as he appeared from the other end of the garden. “Whatever you whispered sure got her packing!”_

_Mazdak snickered, following in his older brother’s shadow as ever. “We finally found something the coward is good at! Repelling women! Gods above Khalid, you need help. Don’t worry. We have plenty of experience with women. We’ll show you how it works.”_

_Pejman tisked, shaking his finger. “Now now Mazdak, it’s pointless. You saw that show — the bastard barely looked at her. He couldn’t stomach her. We can’t help him when it comes to whoring himself out to men.” Pejman planted a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “You really should have been born a princess.”_

_Mazdak shrugged. “Or maybe he was just sickened by how Fódlan she looked. Can’t blame you there, Khalid. She’s just as disgusting and weak as you. Bet you want a real Almyran woman to dominate you.”_

_He crossed his arms, casually eyeing his escape routes. “I don’t need or want either of your advice. Now go away, I’m busy.”_

_Pejman took that as a challenge, snapping out to grab him. Despite his best attempt to dodge, Pejman caught his hair. “What have I told you about telling me what to do?!” Pejman yanked him roughly to the ground. “Well? Speak, Fódlan mutt!”_

_“S-sorry,” he grit past his teeth._

_“Fucking pathetic as always,” Mazdak puffed, throwing up his hands. “A real Almyran would fight back.” He’d tried that in the past, more times than he could count. When he was lucky he got out of it bruised and bloodied. Sometimes he barely crawled away with his life._

_“Hmph. See Mazdak, I was right. Look at him, he clearly wants to be topped by a man. What a pathetic weakling. You find men attractive Khalid? You really want to be a woman, don’tcha.”_

_“Baba likes men and women,” he muttered. “Shapur’s engaged to a man.”_

_“They ain’t weak like you. Come on Khalid, tell us who you like.” Pejman dug a heel into his back. “Who do you think about when you touch yourself at night?”_

_Mazdak knelt down and whispered to him. “You better be careful, Khalid. Has anyone told you yet? If you touch yourself too much, you’ll go_ blind.”

_He wiggled his fingers, touching two together. “Oh no, I’m blind now. What a shame. If only I was warned.”_

_Mazdak smacked the back of his head. “Smartass. And you wonder why no one likes you. I’m trying to help you.”_

_Pejman finally removed his foot, immediately yanking him back to his feet by the scruff of his shirt. “Blindness isn’t the only thing you have to worry about. Touch your cock too often and your hands will get gross and hairy. You’ll never be able to use your precious coward’s weapon with hands like that!”_

_“We’re serious, Khalid. This is for your own good.” Mazdak swiped an old, dried branch off the ground. “Doesn’t take much to overdo it. Wanna know what happens if you overdo it?” Mazdak took the branch and snapped it in half, the dry crunch echoing through the courtyard._ “Snap _goes Khalid’s tiny cock! It’ll break off just like that. Good luck spawning heirs!”_

_“Dude.” Pejman shifted, covering his crotch. “Don’t even joke about that.”_

_Mazdak waved the ends of his stick. “Just trying to be helpful!”_

_Pejman shook his head. “Useless advice. Khalid’s dick is too tiny. Bet he can’t even jerk it. Bet it fell off already.”_

_“Hah, bet he wasn’t even born with one.”_

_He rolled his eyes. “You’ve both seen me naked.”_

_“Yeah, and you’re tiny!”_

_“Don’t you two have anything better to do?”_

_“We’re trying to help our freak baby-brother out. Stop being ungrateful.”_

_He knew he should’ve stayed in the mountains today. Hopefully they’d get bored of him soon._

* * *

(Age 13)

_“Khalid. Kiddo. So… puberty. Sure is a thing, isn’t it?”_

_“Yep.” He lined up another shot and fired. His recent growth spurt left his aim clumsy and his running gait clumsier._

_“You’re getting taller by the day! Growing into a handsome young man!”_

_“Uh-huh.”_

_“Got any questions? I’m sure it’s awkward talking about this kind of thing with your folks.”_

_“Not really.”_

_Nader cleared his throat. “A curious lad like you_ must _have a question or two. Don’t be shy, there are no wrong questions! Every boy has to learn eventually.”_

_“What’s the most height someone has gained in a single bout of growing?”_

_“I have no idea.”_

_“What’s the point of growing hair in my armpits?”_

_“Er… I don’t know. It just happens.”_

_“How come girls bleed and boys don’t?”_

_“Who told you about that?”_

_“Overheard some girls talking about it. Boys don’t bleed too, right?”_

_“No.”_

_“Cool. How much force, theoretically, would it take to snap an erect dick like a dry branch?”_

_Nader shuddered. “Where did that question come from? Khalid, these aren’t the kinds of questions I meant.”_

_“You said there are no wrong questions.”_

_“Okay. Okay. Kiddo… let’s talk about women. Or men. Has anyone caught your eye a little extra recently…?”_

_“Yeah.” He fired another shot. “Mazdak’s acting weird. I’m keeping an eye on him. He’s been snooping around the maid that cleans my room. Keeps following her around. I think he’s going to get her to slip something into my room.”_

_“No! Not what I meant.” Nader sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I think Mazdak’s following her around for other reasons.” Nader made a grabbing motion towards his own chest. “That lady’s got some heavy melons. Thanks for the tip, kiddo. Can’t have someone harassing the maids, even if he’s a prince. Especially if he’s a prince.”_

_He ran Nader’s words through his head a few times, but he still didn’t get it. “Why does Mazdak care about her melons? Does she garden in her free time?”_

_Nader threw back his head and laughed at him. “Not those kinds of melons! Guess your eye isn’t drawn to the female figure. Nothing to be ashamed of kiddo. So, about—”_

_“What_ kind _of melons, then?”_

_Nader ruffled his hair. “That maid has a very heavy chest. Plenty of men find the curvature and roundness of a lady attractive.”_

_He frowned. “Her breasts?”_

_Nader cleared his throat. “Er, yes. Her breasts.”_

_“You could have just said that.” He thought back to that particular maid. She’d been trusted to clean his room for a long time. Mama personally vetted her after his previous maids proved less than trustworthy. Was it possible she was a seductress like the Vish Kanya? There were other groups out there. Made him curious why she was trying to snare Mazdak. “Shouldn’t he know better?” Mazdak was decently smart. Smarter than Pejman, not as smart as Shapur. Khalid still didn’t understand how people were so stupid to fall into a seductress’ trap._

_“Oh, he should know better alright. I’ll be sure to have a talk with him. Enough about your brother, this is about you.”_

_“Half-brother,” he corrected under his breath. “How long until my voice stops cracking?”_

_“It’ll level out eventually, nothing to worry about.”_

_“You aren’t answering my questions at all.” He hefted his bow and got back to practice. No one ever answered his questions. Once in a while Nader entertained him and let him blather, but it was a rare occurrence with how busy the general was._

_“Sorry kiddo, you’ve got a unique brand of questions.” Nader didn’t_ sound _sorry. He sounded amused. “How about dreams? Any strange dreams?”_

_He stopped shooting, snapping to look at Nader. “Actually yeah. Is that a puberty thing?”_

_Nader slapped his back, knocking the bow out of his hand. “Sure is, kiddo! Don’t worry, it’s perfectly natural. Go on, share with me. We can unravel what’s going on in that head of yours.”_

_“So I had this dream about a really tasty leaf, but when I’m awake leaves don’t look or taste appetizing at all. It’s really disappointing, what’s up with that?”_

_Nader’s grin vanished. “On second thought, you seem to have puberty handled. Go back to shooting.”_

_“Hey, come back! You didn’t answer any of my questions!”_

* * *

_Come a little closer… almost there…_

“If it isn’t Claude. Just the House Leader I was looking for!”

He flinched, jerking forward to catch the critter before it could run away. “Looking for me?” He kept his back to Sylvain as he crouched over his catch. A quick examination proved it was exactly what he needed.

“I hear you and His Highness made up. Congrats. I—uh. What’cha got there?”

“None of your business.” Claude slipped his catch into his jacket and stood, dusting off his pants.

“Did you just shove a _frog_ in your jacket?”

Hands clasped behind his head, he shrugged. “You tell me.” He ignored the fact that his pocket was wiggling. Pockets wiggled for plenty of reasons.

_“Croak.”_

“Right. Okay. You know what? I don’t want to know. I saw nothing.” Despite his claims, Sylvain’s eyes were glued to his pocket. “But _why…?_ Nope, never mind.” Sylvain cleared his throat. “So! Fancying meeting you in this alleyway, clearing doing nothing suspicious at all! You’re a hard fella to track down.”

He winked. “You found me, so I can’t be too hard to find. Whatever can this humble deer do for you? If you’re looking to join this month’s mission, you need to go through Teach.”

Sylvain’s smile tensed. “I’ve been caught. Your professor said I need your approval.” He eyed the redhead silently, searching for any crack in his mask. Sylvain cleared his throat, rolling his shoulders. “If you’re worried I’ll hesitate — trust me, I won’t. Miklan is no longer a member of House Gautier. He’s not my brother either. He’s nothing but a lowlife thief that needs to be put down.” Sylvain casually shrugged. “It’s only fair that I help clean up his mess.”

“Rough history with him, is that right?” He could sympathize, not that he’d ever admit it.

Sylvain chuckled. “Something like that. Well? What’ll it take to be added to the team? I’ve got plenty to offer. Gossip, secrets, knowledge… I know your currency, Claude.” 

He leaned back against the brick wall of the alley, crossing his arms over his chest. “So you do. I’m curious what you think you can offer me. Go on, hit me.” Knowledge of the Lance of Ruin. Knowledge about _relics._ Whatever Sylvain had, Claude _wanted._

“Heh. I’ve got exactly what you want.” Sylvain prowled closer to him, a familiar glint in his eyes. “It’s clear what you lack. What you’re _thirsty_ to learn about, isn’t that right?” Sylvain stopped in front of him, annoyingly close. The redhead jutted his hip to the side and peered down at him with a familiar look. A thrum of danger ran through his blood, a danger he was well acquainted with. 

“There’s no need for that. No need to play coy: we both know what I want.”

“Do we?” Sylvain casually glanced to the end of the alleyway as he bracketed his arms around Claude. Then those eyes returned to his. “Do you know what I’m doing, Claude?”

He winked. “I’m not exactly blind, Gautier. You’re not the first to get me in this position.” Men always thought it was an intimidating stance. Maybe the first time it had been scary, back when he was a boy. No one ever seemed to consider how open they left their crotch in this sort of position. 

Sylvain’s eyebrows rose. _“Really._ Forgive me if I’m a bit skeptical.” Sylvain leaned closer, replacing his hand on the wall with his elbow. His hand touched Claude’s chin, thumb circling in a cliché motion. “Say. You ever kissed anyone before? I can teach you.”

“Ooo, a famous Gautier line. Use that one often?” _As if he trusted Sylvain. Nice try._ “You know that’s not the kind of ‘knowledge’ I’m after.”

“A shame. You’ve got cute lips.” _Yeah, and he was born yesterday too._ Why did so many people think bland flattery worked? He would never understand it. “Alright, I give. I’ll give you what you want.” Sylvain withdrew some, but not fully. “Ask away. I’ve known His Highness since before he could walk.”

“Dimitri?” _Now_ Sylvain caught him off guard. “What’s he got to do with this?”

“No worries Claude, I get it. Every young man’s gotta learn at some point. I’ll tell you anything you want to know about _doing it._ Free of charge! I’ll even throw in a bonus: not a word of what you tell me will reach another soul. Don’t feel ashamed. I had to give His Highness and Felix the talk too. I know _everything_ you could want to know.”

“...What?” _What the hell did this have to do with a relic?_ “A ‘talk’…?”

 _“The_ talk. The birds and the bees. The facts of life. All the nitty gritties.”

“What possibly makes you think I want to learn bird and bee facts from you?”

“The horizontal tango, Claude.”

Okay, clearly he was missing something. Obviously Sylvain wasn’t offering to give him dance lessons. He just stared at Sylvain. How would that even work? Was the dance performed on the ground? How else would someone remain horizontal? Sounded like a great way to make a fool of himself. It _had_ to be metaphorical. 

“The _sex_ talk, Claude.”

He threw up his hands. “Not interested. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to do.” 

“Not so fast! I’m serious Claude. No judgment, ask as many questions as you want to ask.” He finally leaned back, splaying his hand to tick off fingers. “Intercourse, protection, erections, preparation, proper lube, foreplay — anything you’re curious about.”

“Why would I need protection while — you know what, I don’t want to know.” Vish was all the protection he needed. Too bad she was in his room.

Sylvain caught his elbow before he could walk away. “That definitely means you’re lacking information. Don’t you want to impress His Highness? This is an _excellent_ deal for you.”

“I don’t know what you _think_ Dimitri and I do when we hang out, but your ‘talk’ isn’t necessary.” _Yes_ he was working with very, very incomplete information. He wasn’t about to ask _Sylvain_ about his questions though! Sylvain gossiped almost as much as Hilda. _Also,_ if he acted like Sylvain when it came to women, he’d be dead a hundred times over. How Sylvain hadn’t ended up in a ditch somewhere sans teeth, hair, and a few organs, Claude would never know.

“Nonsense. You really don’t think you need my help? How about this: tell me one surefire method of confirming another man’s interest in you and I’ll leave you alone.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Cornering a guy in an alley, staring at him, and offering to kiss him seems damning evidence that you’re interested in me.”

Sylvain slapped his forehead. “No! Not me! I’m talking _sexual_ interest! Here, I’ll give you a hint: think of a dog wagging his tail but up front. Excited and _upright.”_

“This has got to be the _weirdest_ come on. Sylvain, I can’t spell this out any clearer: I’m not interested in fucking you. Or anything else with you.” Was this just how men flirted with other men in Fódlan? Or was it a Sylvain thing? This had to be a Sylvain thing. Flirting didn’t translate from his culture to Fódlan except at the most basic level. _Wrestling_ was a form of flirting across the border, but not here. What sort of crazy metaphor did a _dog’s tail_ imply? Gods damn all metaphors, he was sick of them.

 _“Not me!_ I’m talking about that special _Blaiddyd rex_ that likes to snooze in your bed. _His_ interest.”

He could only _stare_ at Sylvain. “You are _not_ suggesting what I think you are.”

“Now he gets it. Yes! I’m talking about you… and him… having sex! I know you want to.”

His stomach turned. “You’re sick.”

“Uh. What?”

He shoved Sylvain back. “I’m an open minded guy. But _that…”_ He had to stop and take a calming breath. “If I catch you so much as _looking_ at him, at _any_ other…” He brute forced a grin onto his face. He doubted it was a nice one. “Let’s just say, you better keep a very close eye on your food. You know, there’s a powder that’ll make your dick” — he stepped on a nearby branch, breaking it with a satisfying crunch — “snap right off. If you want to keep your manhood, you’ll never look at Butter again. You will not _touch_ Butter. Understood?”

Sylvain reared back, crossing his legs. “Wow. Okay. Great threat, 10/10. That was terrifying. Is that possible? You’re bluffing, right? Please tell me you’re bluffing.” He was, but Sylvain didn’t need to know that. “You’re overreacting. I know it’s a bit intimidating with all the confusing equipment down south. I sure wasn’t prepared my first time with a—”

“Sylvain.”

“Er. Yes?”

“You’re digging a deep grave. If I see you around Butter, I’ll end you.” Most lines for Claude were fuzzy. He loved toeing lines. Beastiality? _Not allowed._ The fact that Sylvain even _suggested_ it… 

Sylvain raised both hands in surrender. “Okay! No butter for me! I’ll avoid butter from here on! For whatever reason. You got it bossman!”

Claude patted his pocket, which croaked. He was late to his teatime with Lorenz. By now he should have already broken into Lorenz's room and dropped off his new friend. “Never bring this up ever again. If you do, you’ll learn a new meaning of regret.” With that, he left the alleyway. He needed to go pet and hug Butter, Lorenz could wait a bit longer. 

* * *

Bonus:

“Hey Your Highness. You busy?” Sylvain pressed his back against the wall, eyes darting back and forth on the lookout for Claude. 

“Hello Sylvain.” Dimitri looked up with a small smile on his face, continuing to absently pet the dog at his feet. He recognized it as the dog that liked to follow His Highness around. “I’m not overly busy, no.”

“Great!” He squatted down and held his hand out to the dog. Tucked behind the stairwell by the pond, he’d see Claude coming before Claude saw him. _Ideally_ the Golden Deer house leader was busy with his class or something, but he wasn’t about to bet his dick on it. The dog headbutted his palm, asking for pets and wagging its tail back and forth. “So, how’s it going with Claude…?”

“Sylvain!” Dimitri hissed, glaring at him. “We’re in public.” He cleared his throat and returned to a normal volume. “I am making strides towards better communication. He’s been quite patient with me. In fact, the other day, he—”

“Got it,” Sylvain interrupted before Dimitri could launch into an endless geyser of Claude-gushing. “Glad to hear. Have you made any progress with hitchhiking onto their mission this month?”

Dimitri immediately stopped petting the dog as he scowled. “I’m working on it.”

“Same here. I need you to put in a good word with Claude for me. Something I said pissed him off. I’ve never seen Claude _angry_ before, but I swear I heard my death toll in his voice.” His _dick’s_ death toll, which might as well include his life. “I’ll apologize or whatever it takes to get back on his good side, but if I go see him alone he’s totally going to make me regret my whole life.”

“You made him angry? That doesn’t sound like Claude at all. It must have been serious.”

“No, I swear it wasn’t! Don’t you worry, your _pal_ is fine. I just made a crude sex joke and he took it the wrong way. That’s the best I can guess at least.” Also Claude might be a repressed homophobe. It would explain his blindness to Dimitri’s flirting for one. Really, it was the only reason he could think of for the look of revulsion Claude gave him. His ‘Claude is a minor’ theory turned out to be laughably implausible on the magic-side of things.

“Sylvain, you need to take responsibility and act more mature. The way you conduct yourself—”

 _“Please_ spare me the lecture, Your Highness. I get it, I messed up. I just need you to tell me the best way to make up for my mistake.” He slumped down on the ground, flopping his face into the dog’s fur. Dogs made everything better.

“I imagine a simple apology should be enough. Claude isn’t one to hold a grudge. So long as you are heartfelt and genuinely repent.” Dimitri hummed, smile audible in his voice. “I see you’ve taken to Butter well. He likes you. He’s a good judge of character, so Claude says.”

He jerked his head upright, eyes darting around. _“Butter?”_ Claude implied whatever dick-breaking substance he had was like butter, so despite the strangeness of it Sylvian was following Claude’s ‘advice’ to the letter and avoiding butter at all cost. 

Dimitri pointed down. “Butter. The dog. A silly name for a Blaiddyd rex, I know. He’s not yellow at all.”

“Butter. _Wait,_ this is Butter?!” Claude told him to avoid butter. _No,_ Claude told him to avoid _capital B Butter._ _Oh shit. No wonder Claude was so disgusted._ Sexual innuendos went over the guy’s head, but accidentally implying he should fuck a dog _didn’t?_ Claude was a real piece of work.

“Oh!” Something slammed into Dimitri. A familiar someone. “Hello Noodle! Hello Claude!”

“Hey there, Your Princeliness. _Sylvain.”_ He slowly looked up at where Claude leaned against the stairs directly above him. His grin was downright vicious. “Funny. I thought I saw you just yesterday. Guess my words didn’t stick.”

He threw up both of his hands and flung himself away from the dog. “It’s a misunderstanding, I wasn’t talking about a dog! We can talk this out! Have mercy!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: This will be a fun chapter about Claude’s childhood!  
> Me, 2 seconds into Claude’s childhood: ;_;
> 
> Khalid: can i join ur club pls?  
> Shamaran: No.  
> Khalid: how bout if i show u... This! *shows off vish*  
> Shanaran: _the prince is going to kill himself wtf kid_  
>  Shamaran: Fine  
> Khalid: yes! Snakes are the key!
> 
> Claude: Alright Sylvain, tell me about the lance!  
> Sylvain: I'll tell you about 'lances' alright *wink*
> 
> Finally have names for Claude’s half-bros! There’s Shapur, the eldest and most hands off with Khalid. Middle-bro is Pejman, most aggressive. Mazdak is the youngest but still a lot older than Khalid, and hangs around Pejman a lot. And Ama makes her first appearance! Even if only in a flashback. 
> 
> ‘Cainism’ or siblicide (where the oldest sibling kills the younger ones), is common in rl golden eagles. It doesn’t always happen, however (according to my limited google research), it’s very common in 3-egg nests. (I swear it wasn’t my intention to traumatize Claude so much this chapter… it’s just how it worked out!)
> 
> Shamaran is named after a persian mythical creature that is half-snake, half-woman (Shah=a title for persian kings, Mar-an=plural word for Snakes). I figured it was the perfect name for the matron of the Vishkanya.
> 
> *Gasp* Is it time for useless-and-obscure-yet-fun fact corner?? Indeed it is!  
> The ‘Vish Kanya’ (Vish=Poison, Kanya=Girl/maiden) was actually a real thing (sorta). They were a group of female assassins under an ancient Indian Emperor (~300s BC). Young girls would be fed a steady diet of poisons (or venom, toxins, etc depending on the translation) until they were made immune to the substance. Some records state this caused their own bodily fluids to become poisonous/venomous (tho the scientific accuracy is dubious). Other records claim the assassin would apply poison (that they were immune to) to their genitals ahead of time (much more likely), or most commonly offer their victim poisoned alcohol. Other tales claim that a Vishkanya could kill their target by touch alone, or in extreme cases through a mere look. I’ve been fascinated by the subject since I first read about it, but sadly there aren't a ton of English references on the topic. It’s unknown whether or not the myth holds any truth to it, though certain parts of it are certainly false. One famous ‘account’ describes death by mercury — which is not a poison that the human body can gain immunity from. 
> 
> Personally, I’m of the opinion that there’s truth hidden in the story. My guess is that there once was a king who at least attempted to create this organization. From there, the idea got lodged in the minds of at least a few advisors (specifically ones writing down records…) and was embellished. There’s a lot of nuisance to the history of it and some details that are complicated to explain, so I’m certainly no expert on the subject. I just think it’s neat. 
> 
> Anyways, the VishKanya in this story isn’t a 1 to 1 version of the real life group. And yes, Claude named his snake after them :3 in part bc it translates to ‘Venom Girl’ which is a very Claude way to name something (she’s female, and she’s venomous! perfect.) and also bc as a kid he viewed her as his own personal Vishkanya.
> 
> Next chapter: Cozy GD storytime and some much needed Cyril love


	28. Golden Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Making up for Claude's lonely childhood last chapter ;_;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've updated both the tags and the ratings. (For the record, this chapter isn't an M rated chapter lol, it's just that I've been meaning to do this for a while). When I originally published this fic, it was meant to be a super light-hearted casual no-plot fic I could write without having to worry much about continuity (hah. hahah. how foolish of me. everything i touch grows angst, plot, and worldbuilding). However, due to how seriously certain subject matters are discussed, I've been debating on whether or not I should bump the rating. I'm honestly really bad at judging ratings, so I typically try to play it safe. I never know where the line for explicit injury scenes become 'too much' for a T-rating. Not to mention some of Dimitri's POVs really push that line too haha. As I was writing a future scene, I kept bumping into 'is this T-rating? Should I tone it down?' which isn't great for my muse. I decided to hell with it, I'm just gonna bump the rating.
> 
> Fic is still going to be presented in pretty much the same manner going forward. I will say (because i know what a lot of people search M fics for) that it won't have any explicit sex scenes. However, I do intend to explore Claude/Dimitri's relationship as it evolves, which includes their 'sex-life' (aka finding a happy medium between cuddlaude and horny-mitri) and some parts of those chapters are certainly M material. Anyways, that's still a ways down the pipeline.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has read or commented on this fic. What started out as a little idea that I assumed would hit 30k tops has grown into a beast that I adore writing for, and that's because of all the excited feedback I've gotten.

On the upside, Cyril was out of Prince Khalid stories. On the downside, Cyril’s storytime was now replaced with a free-for-all Golden Deer storyfest.

Classifying it as a downside was an exaggeration. It was better than the alternative. And the stories _were_ informative, to an extent. It was admittedly a lot of fun too. It was just that everyone knew that the reason for ‘story time’ was _Claude’s ignorance._ No one overtly said as such (except for Lorenz), but everyone _knew_ (except maybe Cyril and Flayn, who were as ignorant as him if not more).

It was becoming routine: Roughly once a week the Golden Deer set up a cozy pile of blankets and pillows to share stories after dinner. ‘Cozy’ was an evolving term. What began as bringing a cushion to sit on was now a full blown blanket-fort. This time Leonie wrangled them all into helping her set it up. Claude couldn’t lie — it was fun. Goofing off to do something so ‘childish’ (as Lorenz put it) was freeing. And lucky for him, he wasn’t the only one bereft of experiencing blanket-fort-building in childhood. It was a first for Marianne, Flayn, Cyril, and Lorenz too.

A side effect of sitting within their masterfully-crafted blanket-fort was a lack of space. Just as he’d observed, the commoners of the group had less qualms with physical closeness. The three of them bundled together like glue. Hilda took advantage of the circumstance to cuddle up to Marianne. Lorenz was stiff-backed with his knees tucked into his chest, doing his best not to touch anyone. Lysithea and Cyril curled up together, with Lysithea loudly stating _“it’s not like we have a choice, ugh,”_ despite how happy she looked. There wasn’t much room left for Claude (or Flayn, who was latched to his side).

“Um, Claude, you can sit with us…” Marianne murmured. She shrank against Hilda as the Deer shot her bewildered looks.

“Or you can sit with us!” Leonie invited him to Raphael’s lap, which was already full.

After a moment of invisible deliberation, he squeezed over to Marianne, tucking himself between her and Raphael. Flayn plopped into his lap and Raphael threw an arm around his shoulder. Marianne gave him a tiny, wobbling smile. He winked in return, then for good measure stuck his tongue out at Hilda.

Hilda rolled her eyes. “You sure you’re comfortable?” she whispered to Marianne. Marianne didn’t usually _do_ other people in close proximity. To his private joy, he was one of the few people she _did_ enjoy being in close proximity with.

“I, um, I don’t mind.” She tensed and shifted a little closer to him. Hilda shot him a betrayed look as she shifted with Marianne.

“‘Kay, so who’s going first? I’ve got a great story this time!”

Claude found himself relaxing. He nearly startled as he realized that little fact. He was (hidden, safe, protected) trapped under a cave of blankets and pillows with no quick exit. He was surrounded by (friends, companions) people in close proximity. His thigh touched Raphael’s. Ignatz somewhat spilled out of the bigger man’s lap and against him and Flayn. Raphael’s arm was warm and comfortable at his back. Flayn wiggled a bit in his lap, beaming at everything and overall radiating happiness. Without meaning to, he rested his head against Marianne’s shoulder. She didn’t even flinch. 

_‘Good friends don’t cuddle.’ Hilda was full of shit._ Claude melted. He’d only ever felt this safe and comfortable around Dimitri. It was everything he wanted growing up and _more._ He settled in and for once let himself just exist.

  
  


“…and then, as the lost group of friends were about to give into despair, a shining light appeared!” Hilda gestured wildly, nearly smacking Lorenz in the face. “From the shadows of the woods appeared the Golden Deer himself! His antlers shone like the sun, acting as a guiding light. It beckoned them to follow it to safety.”

 _“‘But wait, O holy deer,’”_ Leonie acted as one of the friends, pitching her voice. _“‘Our last friend is lost within these woods! We can’t leave without her!’”_

Hilda brought her fingers up to her forehead, miming antlers. _“‘Your friend is already lost. Lest you wish to join her, you shall follow me, or be lost in eternal darkness. Forever!’”_

“Hold on, the Golden Deer can’t talk!” Lysithea argued.

“It’s for _storytelling purpose,_ duh. Ahem. ‘The Golden Deer looked deep into each of their eyes, somehow conveying what I just said by eye contact alone.’ Better?”

Lysithea rolled her eyes. “Whatever, just get on with it.”

Leonie cleared her throat and continued the story. “Everyone in the band refused to leave their lost friend behind. _‘O holy deer, won’t you guide us to our lost friend? We will forever be in your debt, and we’ll pay you in whatever method you ask of us.’”_

Hilda tapped her chin as if considering it. _“‘Very well. For your loyalty you shall be rewarded, but beware. You may not find your friend as you remember her. Place your hand upon my back. Do not let go, lest you be lost forever!’_ The Golden Deer wandered away, forcing the group to follow it. The leader held onto the deer, each friend linking hands.”

Leonie lowered her voice to a hush. “The Golden Deer led the party deep, deep into the forest. Time lost all meaning as friends walked and walked. Green leaves turned into pine needles, then to dead fallen leaves of winter, then back to normal leaves. The undergrowth was overgrown and endless, the darkness thick as tar. It was only the shining light of the Golden Deer that kept the band from being consumed by darkness as they passed through forest after forest.”

“You said this wasn’t going to be a scary story!” Lysithea snapped.

“Aww, is lil Lysithea scawed?” Claude stuck out his bottom lip and traced a tear down his cheek.

“I am not! Why you—”

“Please, I wish to hear the rest of the story!” Flayn said, planting her hands over his mouth. “Do save arguing for afterwards!”

“Don’t worry, it’s not really scary,” Hilda said. “My father used to scare me with it when I was a little girl, but that was just him being mean. _‘Don’t wander into the woods Hilda, or else the White Hind might steal you away!’_ Holst always had to console me afterwards. But it’s not scary now that I’m older. Story’s almost over anyways.” She cleared her throat and continued. “The travelers were finally led to a glade lit by the full moon. Within lay two deer — the White Hind herself, and a young fawn resting at her side.”

 _“‘Where is our friend?’”_ Leonie continued the story.

Hilda put her ‘antlers’ back up. _“‘She lays beside her new mother.’”_

Leonie slapped her hands to her cheeks, gasping. _“‘This cannot be! Only those without hope nor love are taken in by the White Hind!’”_

Hilda raised a finger, speaking to them. “And see, that’s true! The White Hind only adopts those who are alone in life… or _think_ they’re alone.”

“The first friend approached the fawn that shared the blond fur and the blue eyes of a human. _‘My friend, do you recognize me?’_ The fawn sniffed her fingers and nothing more, showing no understanding. _‘I won’t give up on you! If I am to starve in this glade, so be it. I will never abandon you!’”_ Leonie nudged Ignatz. “Pst. You voice the second friend.”

“Oh! Are you sure? Not sure I remember the story well enough… er, here goes, I guess. Um. _‘We’ve failed you, our friend. You’re, um, really special to us. Our group won’t be the same without you. You fill an irreplaceable place in each of our hearts. Like the colors of a painter’s pallet, without you our world will always be missing an important hue. We miss you.’_ How was that? I’m sorry, I can’t remember the exact words, I had to improvise!”

“That was excellent! Raph, you wanna play the third friend?”

“Sure!” Raphael frowned, glancing around. He settled on Lysithea, his ever-present smile turning miserable. _“‘You gotta come home with us! You can’t eat tasty meat with us if you’re stuck as a deer! But even if you’re stuck as a deer, I promise I’ll never eat you, no matter how hungry I get! A friend never eats another friend!’”_

“Ugh, why are you saying that to _me?_ I’m not some damsel lost in the woods!”

Raphael scratched the back of his head, grinning. “Sorry! I’m not so good at acting, so I just imagined my lil sis got turned into a deer and went from there.”

“Hey! For the last time, I’m not a child!”

Leonie cleared her throat, ignoring the squabbling child. “Unique. It gets the point across.”

“The fourth and final friend approached, falling to his knees and clasping the fawn’s hoof in his hands!” Lorenz butted in, dramatically slapping his hand across his chest. _“‘My dearest friend! If you are to remain a deer for all your days, I shall not change what I must ask of you. My beloved, will you not marry me? For I love you, more dearly than any other. That my cowardice prevented me from showing you my affection shall be forever my greatest regret.’_ With that, he pressed a kiss to the fawn’s nose.”

“Very enthusiastic Lorenz.” Leonie hid her laughter behind a cough. “Through the power of love, both of friends and from her true love himself, the fawn stood and changed. No longer was she deer, but now human instead. She wept at the feet of her companions, asking for forgiveness for doubting them. They embraced her together. Yet as they went to leave, the lost friend approached the White Hind, who now rested alone. _‘I’m so sorry, mother,’_ she cried into the deer’s fur. It was only through the support of her friends that she was able to leave, all of them guided back into daylight by the Golden Deer.”

 _“‘Do not let go, my love,’”_ Lorenz declared, extending his hand to the middle of their circle. _“‘I know how it hurts to leave, I see it within your sapphire eyes! Trust in me, trust in my love for you, and do not release my hand.’”_

Claude snatched Lorenz’s hand. _“‘Your brave and sexy voice has convinced me!’”_ he declared in a mockingly high voice.

 _“Claude!”_ Lorenz was the only one who didn’t laugh, snatching his hand away like Claude was on fire. He even got a little giggle out of Marianne! 

“The deer-lady’s name is Claude? Wow, what a coincidence.”

Hilda reached over and slugged his shoulder. “Pff, I think we can all agree you’re the most likely to follow the White Hind blindly into the woods.”

He rolled his eyes. Only three times, and only ‘blindly’ because it had been night out. The deer was _very nice_ and also very cozy. Plus she was his free meal-ticket for a pear-breakfast. He _still_ hadn’t found whatever pear tree she kept pilfering those from. “For the last time, a deer is just a deer, no matter what color.” What ridiculous superstition.

“What happens next?” Cyril asked. “Does she hold on?”

“Yep! She held on to her true love’s hand and they made it out of the forest. The man and woman married and lived happily ever after! The end.”

“What a wonderful story!” Flayn declared. “Such a tale of romance!”

Lorenz cleared his throat. “Hilda, you forgot the last portion.”

“Ugh, I hate the last bit! The story ends where I say it ends. Everyone lived happily ever after! The! End!”

“Wait, what else is left?” Ignatz asked. “That’s where I always heard the story end.”

Lorenz cleared his throat. “The rescued maiden could never forget her time with the White Hind. Once a month, upon the full moon, she vanished into the woods and became a young deer. Her husband always took up vigil at the forest’s edge to await his beloved’s return. Each month, she indeed returned to him, heart heavy and eyes sorrowful. For years the cycle continued, until one year the husband was unable to wait at the forest’s edge. With no one awaiting her by dawn, the maiden returned to the woods and transformed into a normal deer forevermore. When the husband learned of this, he tore into the woods to search for her. Neither were ever seen again.”

“Ugh, that’s so tragic. I like my ending way better!”

“Hilda, a purely happy ending is unrealistic. One does not walk away from such an encounter with a spirit like the White Hind unchanged.”

“Since when is the White Hind a spirit?” Claude spoke up. “Isn’t she just supposed to be a ‘magic deer’ or whatever?”

Leonie waffled a hand. “It depends. The stories I know cast the White Hind as a forest spirit and wife to the moon, but some places look at her as a link between life and death. I think it’s a noble thing.”

Marianne nodded. “Um… It’s said the Goddess herself blessed the White Hind with the ability to see beyond the veil… that’s just how I was told it though, maybe I’m wrong…”

Lorenz cleared his throat, jutting out his chin. _“Ahem._ While the White Stag gallivants across the sky as the moon itself, his beloved wife remains shackled to the earth. The Goddess, taking pity upon the star-crossed lovers, bestowed upon the White Hind the ability to see beyond the veil of stars. The White Hind always knows where her lover resides, and through that can see into the heavens themselves. Through the heavens, death itself.”

“Aha! You admit the big white stag that slept with me was just a normal stag then.”

 _“No!_ Claude, have you listened to nothing?”

He threw up his hands. “How do you explain ‘the moon’ snuggling up to me?”

Lorenz rolled his eyes. “If you _recall,_ that was the night of the dark moon. Once a month the White Stag returns to the earth at night. There was no moon in the sky. The White Stag was curled up at your side. The evidence is more than plain to see.”

“Oh yes, that perfectly circular orb of a deer. Definitely had to be the moon. Telescopes are a thing Lorenz. The moon is made of _rocks,_ not deer.”

“It is _metaphorical, you obtuse, uneducated dunce!”_

“What’s a telescope?” Hilda whispered to Lysithea, who shrugged. “Claude, rocks don’t glow. And how would a rock float in the sky? That’s way dumber than the moon being a deer.”

“A metaphorical deer! Not a real, physical deer!” Lorenz continued to argue.

Raphael scratched his chin. “The deer looked pretty solid when it slept with Claude.”

“It’s magic,” Leonie explained.

“Oooh, gotcha.”

He raised an eyebrow. “The moon reflects light off the sun. It floats because of gravity. _Duh.”_

“Claude, the sun isn’t out at night! Rocks don’t even reflect light! And that's not how gravity works!”

“Some rocks glow!” Flayn piped in. 

“The moon doesn’t glow. It orbits around our world, and the cycles are based on where our world blocks the light from the sun.” Was astronomy not taught in Fódlan?

Lorenz shook his head, pinching his brow. “Clearly you need better education. _The moon, a rock._ Pah. Barbaric.”

Oh yes, _he_ was the barbaric one. He was going to get his hands on a moon chart and hand-translate it if he had to. Not to mention get his hands on a telescope. How did none of them know what a telescope was? It was _mandatory_ in his duties as their house leader to take them stargazing with a telescope before the year was up.

“Can everyone stop fighting? What about the Golden Deer?” Cyril asked in a rush, nervously looking between everyone. “How’s he fit into all this? ‘Cause that’s gotta be an Almyran gold deer. I know a gold deer when I hear one.”

Leonie snapped her fingers. “That’s right, you said your grandfather used to be a priest of the ‘gold deer’ around your old village, right? Do deer have glowing antlers in Almyra?”

He shrugged. “They’re rare, but some do. It’s a long story.”

Claude couldn’t help himself. “This _is_ story time. Why don’t you share one?” Despite being labeled a ‘deer-prince’ himself, he didn’t actually know many tales about Almyra’s gold deer. The royal library was heavily biased towards venerating the other three national animals over the ‘flighty and cowardly’ deer. 

Cyril fidgeted, glancing between the assembled Deer. “I guess I could…”

“Yes, we all want to hear your story, Cyril!” Lysithea encouraged him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s a local legend where I grew up. If that’s okay.”

Ignatz nodded enthusiastically. “Absolutely! You’ve made me curious about the connections between Fódlan and Almyra stories. I’m dying to know more!” A moment later and his cheeks pinkened. “If you don’t mind, I mean. A-and so long as everyone else is fine with it!”

“Yes! I am on the edge of my seat to hear of this tale!” Flayn cried, perching on the edge of his lap. “Please tell us Cyril!” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Hilda open her mouth. She paused, and in the end said nothing.

Cyril fiddled with his fingers, shifting side to side. “Yeah, okay. The story was really personal to my village… huh. I guess I’m the only one left who knows it.” There was a beat of awkward silence. He heaved an angry sigh and kept going. “My grandpa was the gold deer’s priest. Not like a church priest here, it’s different. There weren't any rules written down or nothin’, he just knew what needed to be done. I was supposed to replace him someday, but that’s never gonna happen now. Which is fine! Fódlan’s better anyways.” He hurried on. “See, there’s sacred deer that live on the nearby mountain. Dunno what it’s called, we just always called it ‘the mountain.’”

“Cyril showed me where it is on a map,” Lysithea piped in. “Slightly south-east of Kupala. Right near the throat.”

“Yeah. Grandpa used to tell stories about the deer a lot. The deer are kids from the first child of the sun god — I mean, that’s just what the stories say! I dunno if there’s a sun god or anything.” His eyes flickered to Flayn.

“Oh, worry not, I will not inform my brother. As it is, you may be surprised to find he is rather lax on what other churchgoers consider ‘blasphemous.’” She formed exaggerated quote marks with her fingers. “I believe he is embarrassed to admit it, but I know for fact many of his older fables are inspired from ‘less than strict’ worship outside of the Goddess.

Claude held back a snicker at the gobsmacked stares Flayn received. He was surprised as well, but he’d read some of the stories Flayn gave him for his birthday. Some of them were downright sacrilege in the way only an innocent children’s book could manage.

“What? There are innumerable manners of which to worship!” She crossed her arms.

“But he’s the archbishop’s right-hand,” Lorenz said.

“Lady Rhea’s like that!” Cyril added with a grin. “She always says it’s okay if I don’t believe in the Goddess, even though she’s the archbishop. She even said I could set up a fire vessel in my room if I want to, not that I do. She cares about all people. Guess Seteth is like that too.”

“Indeed! He can be quite nice when he is not acting overbearing. So please Cyril, I very much wish to hear the rest of your story!”

“Er. Yeah. Okay.” Cyril went back to fidgeting. “So the first gold deer was born from the sun god with his brother and shadow, the onyx wyvern. They were separated at birth because of… I don’t remember why. But the gold deer _used_ to live in the east. Now they live in the west with the wyverns. They’re both sacred in Almyra. Back when my old village got built hundreds of years ago, it was ‘cause a bunch of people got upset at all the poachers going up the mountain.” He shrugged. “A gold deer’s pelt is really shiny. Not exactly like gold, but it’s unlike anything else. It’s magic too. And the onyx wyverns are equally as treasured, ‘cause their scales are pitch black and hard to break. Lots of people didn’t care it was wrong to kill one.”

 _There was only one village to provide onyx wyvern eggs._ Claude closed his eyes and exhaled. Cyril really did have every right to despise Almyran royalty, more than he even knew.

“Oh, how very exciting! Your village stopped the poachers!”

“Nah, grandpa always laughed at this bit. ‘Cause the village couldn’t stop everyone. It’s a huge mountain! We couldn’t do anything to stop them. Poachers kept coming and coming for years until the royal family put out a decree that only they were allowed on the mountain. Wasn’t like the king cared or nothing, he just didn’t want the onyx wyverns to go extinct. Every prince and princess in Almyra is supposed to get an onyx wyvern, and _only_ them. Made him angry when other people rode onyx wyverns, ‘cause it wasn’t special if everyone had one.”

“Regardless of motive, it was a wise move,” Lorenz said.

“Not really. Lots of poachers went up the mountain but most never made it back down. Place was a deathtrap. The decree was also put in place ‘cause so many stupid hunters were dying every year. The mountain didn’t need no protection.”

“Wyverns are very dangerous if you threaten them or their family,” Claude agreed. 

Cyril shook his head. “It’s not the wyverns that’re the scariest. It’s the deer.”

“What? Really?” Leonie wasn’t subtle in her skepticism. “How’s a _deer_ scarier than a wyvern?”

Cyril scratched his cheek. “I’m gettin’ to that. Unlike the poachers and royal family, my village respected everything on the mountain. ‘Cause of that, they could go up and down no problem. It’s how the village survived — we were the only ones that supplied gold pelts and black scales reliably. We only took what naturally died and always gave offerings in return. But the king was upset, ‘cause the village was breaking his dumb rules. His kids kept dying in the mountains but us peasants could go up and down no problem. Made him _real_ angry.”

“The village elder, who became the first gold deer priest, offered to meet the king on the mountain and discuss the rule breaking there. The king agreed, bringing his guards and remaining kids. They met on the mountain and the elder was surrounded by weapons. The king was gonna kill him. But then, a deer appeared! Not just any gold deer.”

“As unhonorable as expected of an Almyran,” Lorenz muttered.

Leonie elbowed him. “Knock it off.”

Cyril paused to think. “So, there’s ‘gold deer’, and then there’s… I dunno how to translate it. ‘Goldest deer?’ They’re _more_ gold. Golden Deer, I guess. Gold deer have shiny pelts, but _Golden Deer_ have antlers made out of solid gold, their pelt is magic and is even shinier, and they get bigger than normal deer. Anyways, when the king’s about to kill the elder, out walks this big shining deer. The king orders his men to attack the deer immediately ‘cause he wants the antlers. Everyone died, ‘cept two people. The elder, and the youngest prince.”

Leonie whistled. “Whoa. So this ‘supercharged’ golden deer killed everyone?”

“Nah, only the king got gored by the deer. The mountain took care of the rest.” Cyril cocked a rueful smirk. “It’s why ya don’t attack a Golden Deer. The mountain itself will rise up and kill anyone that tries. The youngest prince was smart and dropped his weapon, bowing into the dirt at the Golden Deer’s feet. Heh, doubt they tell that part of the story anywhere else in Almyra.”

 _No, they didn’t._ Claude had never heard any of this. If Cyril was talking about who he _thought_ he was, it was a story from over a thousand years ago. Records claimed the youngest prince pulled a coup, luring his father and other siblings away in order to kill them all. _How_ the prince managed it was a mystery as old as the story. Growing up, Claude always assumed poisoning.

“The sad thing is, the Golden Deer still died. There were a lot of guards, enough of them got some hits in that the wounds added up. So as the deer died, the elder soothed it to rest. Then, in tradition, he honored the body and began skinning it. He prepared its meat, its bones, and its antlers. The prince helped the old man ‘cause he owed a debt now. For his aid and wisdom, the elder gave the prince the Golden Deer’s pelt. Story says he wore it for the rest of his life. For sparing his life, the prince allowed the elder and his disciples to enter the mountain whenever they pleased. Because it wasn’t like the king could stop them, hah.”

 _The timid, tricky deer king, bearing his pelt of gold._ That was definitely the same story. The king who was not an ebon-spotted leopard but rather a gold deer. Meek, runty, and above all else a schemer. To the well-read members of his father’s court, Claude got plenty of comparisons to the ancient king as a child. It wasn’t a flattering thing. ‘Deer-kings’ were always considered lesser than ‘leopard-kings’. Weaker, unhonorable, and too cowardly to make tough decisions. 

Cyril went quiet. “I, um, saw a Golden Deer pelt once. The antlers too. They really do shine like stolen shards of the sun. The fur’s soft, almost fluffy. One night it was cold out, so my grandpa gave it to me as a blanket. The pelts are magic, see. Sleeping under one chases away nightmares and bad thoughts. It was really calming and peaceful. ‘Course, a few days later and my village burned down. Always wondered what happened to that pelt.”

There was a beat of awkward silence. Ignatz cleared his throat. “Thank you for sharing your story with us, Cyril. Your home sounds like it was beautiful.”

“Not really. Just mountains and trees. Wasn’t that special. Garreg Mach’s a better home anyways. Doesn’t matter. I don’t care anymore, I’m used to it.” Raphael reached out and snagged the smaller boy in a side-hug. “Aah! Hey!”

It stung. Claude hadn’t known any of that. He’d been nine when the town was decimated. He remembered the news vividly. Being nine, the world revolved solely around him. It had been his eldest half-brother’s first battle to command. Shapur had been punished thoroughly for the loss but he never showed an ounce of bitterness. _No,_ Claude knew he _meant_ for the town to be destroyed. Goading a small Fódlan force across the border fully to somewhere so remote could only be wrought by two possibilities: incompetence or purpose. Shapur was anything _but_ incompetent. He’d always had a hunch (that he couldn’t confirm) that the Fódlan forces weren’t Gonerils, but Fódlan mercenaries _hired_ by Shapur.

As a child, he’d been furious. Enraged. Heartbroken. Without the village, there would be no onyx egg for his tenth birthday. No loyal steed ever his shadow beneath him. He’d schemed time after time to go to the mountain himself, but his parents Forbade him. Capital _F_ Forbade. The number of times he had been genuinely terrified of his parents could be counted on one hand. Two of those times involved his attempts to get an onyx egg. Historically the royalty might have been allowed to go onto that mountain, but long gone were the days of throwing a royal onto the mountain and hoping for the best. Few ever came back. Ironically, the real reason for the shift was because a ‘deer-prince’ survived the mountain more reliably than any ‘leopard-prince’. The Almyran people preferred a strong king. Not a tricky king. 

Ama was enough for him. He couldn’t ride her, but she was better than any wyvern. He’d nursed his jealousy for years, yes, but he got over it. (Now he didn’t have Ama _or_ an onyx-wyvern.)

He’d never even _thought_ about the people that died in that village. He’d been too caught up in the loss of a destined companion. Cyril's entire life was destroyed. People _died._ All so the cursed prince wouldn’t receive his onyx egg. Claude _knew_ it wasn’t his fault. It was Shapur’s fault. Regardless, it was still _because_ of him that Cyril went through hell and back.

He couldn’t afford to wallow in guilt. The familiar desperation to _change_ things clawed in his chest. He had to be patient. Patience was the only way change could occur. Yet how many people would suffer and die from hatred and misunderstandings in the meantime? How many Cyrils were made daily? No, he couldn’t dwell on that. He could only push forward.

Something tugged his sleeve. Glancing down, Flayn was frowning up at him. _“Are you okay?”_ she whispered.

 _Damn._ He was really losing his touch if Flayn could see through him so easily. He ruffled her hair and winked, grinning. “Hey Cyril, how often do these golden deer die? How rare are these fancy pelts? Sure would be neat for the Golden Deer house leader to have a _golden deer_ pelt.” If those pelts were real and actually worked as advertised, he wanted to get his hands on one for Dimitri.

Cyril narrowed his eyes. “I dunno, they’re really rare though. Gotta be a lot more rare nowadays.”

He tapped his chin. “If it matches up with Leicester’s story of a ‘golden deer with gold antlers from the east’, that means one should appear once a year, yeah? Hm, but in that case, you’d think the pelts would be common, since the Golden Deer supposedly dies every year.”

“What do you not understand about _metaphor,”_ Lorenz muttered under his breath.

Cyril shook his head. “Nah, can’t be that many. It’s rare for a gold deer to be, uh.” Cyril paused, frowning at his lap. “‘Enlightened…?’ I dunno the word for it. Don’t think it translates.”

“What’s that mean?” Lysithea asked. “Enlightened. Are you saying the special deer come from normal gold deer?”

“Yeah, exactly! You’re real smart. A Golden Deer ain’t born, it’s, uh, blessed. Kinda. See, at the top of the mountain, closest to the sun, there’s a…” Cyril tugged at his hair, mumbling under his breath. “Grandpa called it a… pool of sunlight? A pool-of-blood of sunlight. It sounds lots better in Almyran.”

“Of course Almyra has a word for ‘pool of blood’,” Hilda said. “That’s so violent.”

Cyril shrugged. “Fódlan has at least three words for choking someone.”

“Choke, suffocate, strangle…” Claude ticked off his fingers. “Huh. There really are a lot of words for that.”

“Garrote, asphyxiate, throttle, and gag,” Lysithea added.

“And artichoke!” Raphael also added. “But only if you don’t chew it.”

“Anyways, the pool is where the first Golden Deer died. Any gold deer that bathes in it is turned into a Golden Deer.”

“Huh. It’s that simple?” Leonie’s eyes gleamed. “What if someone drove a whole herd into the pond? I guess they couldn’t be hunted, but think about it when the deer all died naturally. Do it a few times in a row and you’d be rich!”

“That wouldn’t work at all,” Cyril rebuffed. “It’s not like people can find the pool. Only a deer can. Trust me, lots and lots of people have died looking for the pool. It’s supposed to grant wishes or something, but grandpa said it’s not all-powerful or nothing.”

Lorenz cleared his throat. “If one cannot find the pool, then how is this story known? Don’t tell me a _deer_ told your grandfather.”

“‘Course not. People have been there, they just gotta be led by a deer.” He nodded to Hilda and Leonie. “Like your story!”

“C-can people, um, bathe in it?” Marianne quietly asked. “What happens then?”

Cyril thought about it. “I dunno. I think that’s how you’re supposed to ask for a wish. Never heard of anyone doing that though. Maybe they get turned into deer.” He shrugged. “Not like any of us’ll ever know. It’s just a story anyways.”

* * *

_To General Goneril,_

_Lets cut to the chase. I’ll do us both a favor and lay our cards out on the table. What do you want from me? I think we can come to a ~~mutal~~ ~~mewt~~ mutually benefishal agreement. You _

He crumpled up the draft and threw it at the wall.

_Dear Holst,_

_Hilda joked that you want to pretend to be my big brothe_

He ripped that one into shreds and started over.

_Holst,_

_Those candys were creative. You Gonerils really aren’t known for your ~~sudulty~~ subtlety. You can’t prove anything. Your letter to me made no sense. Say what you mean. Drop the act. What ever you think you know, your wrong. My moth _

He palmed his temples and started again.

_Holst Goneril,_

_What did you tell Hilda about me? Who else have you told? If you think I’ll bow to you that easly, you’ve got another thing coming. Two can play that game. After all, Hilda’s right at my fingertips. If you think you can ~~manapalate~~ ~~malun~~ ~~muniplulate~~ ~~exployt~~ influence me, your sister might just have an ac _

He threw that one at the wall too, with prejudice. 

_Dear mother,_

_Why didn’t you tell me about Holst? Thanks for nothing._

_Disrespectfully, your son_

_Holst,_

_What are YOUR plans for the Alliance founding day? If you think I’m ~~nieeve~~ naive enough to fall for _

_Holst Goneril,_

_Did you send me a letter? Or is this a trick? I won’t fall for this fordery, it’s the easyest trick in the book. Nice try, trying to lure me out and_

_General Goneril,_

_I am honored and ~~admididly~~ admittedly confused over your request. There is no need for our corespondance. As you said, Riegan and Goneril have a strong bond. No need for this letter writing nonsence. All I request is any updates on the shadowy enemy that _

He groaned, thumping his head against the desk. Holst was a massive mystery. _Sure,_ the man _acted_ nice, probably out of guilt (for whatever he harbored towards mama). The letter Hilda delivered was such a jumbled mess. The longer he thought about it, the more he was convinced there was a secret message or meaning. A test, maybe? Holst was an invaluable ally, he couldn’t afford to piss the general off. But what was he supposed to take out of _‘drink lots of fluids and get plenty of rest’?_ He couldn’t figure out any hidden meaning. 

It burned, but he could admit to himself he was probably overthinking the letter. All he could do was take an educated guess and roll the dice. He had to play his cards right; couldn’t allow his advantage over the Goneril family to slip away. Besides, he wanted something that Holst could supply.

_Holst,_

_Hilda told me if I put this off any longer you might storm Garreg Mach itself and demand I hurry up. As funny as that sounds, I supose I should save you the truhble._ _Don’t worry about any injury. I did infact visit a healer. I’m sure you’re shocked. Or maybe not. Hilda probably already gabbed about that given how gossipy you Gonerils are._

_Speaking of your sister, she gave me a bag of candy. Said they were from you? Thanks. I’m not big on sweets typicly, but sometimes I get the craving. Unfortunately Renart swiped the bag for himself. A shame, the candys looked interesting. I’m sure that fox had the bigest sugar rush of his life, maybe he’ll learn his leson. Probably not. But I can dream!_

_You’ll have to go through my grandfather about next month’s Alliance founding day cellebration. And Hilda, of course. As charming as she finds me, I'm sure she wants to spend her brake doing her favorit activity: absolutly nothing. Our proffessor has been pushing her through the ringer reecently (and she’s been passing expectations). She’s looking forward to the coming brake._

_-Claude von Riegan_

He doodled a regular-looking eyeball on the corner of the page, careful to avoid any stylizations resembling the eerie eye-like symbol on the ring that sat hidden under his false-bottom drawer. To further avoid suspicion should anyone else read his mail, he added a doodle of a few deer, a wyvern, and some trees.

That was probably good enough. Probably. If Holst followed his previous patterns, he’d send a brand new bag of candy with his next letter. As much as he ached to imply that he just so happened to hear a rumor that Almyra had _delicious_ spiced jerky, the candy bag was going straight to Cyril. Anonymously of course. He’d _intended_ to do that with the last bag, but eating one candy turned into two. The next thing he knew the bag was gone and he’d had to lock his door because his eyes were fighting to leak. As thoughtful as the gesture was (or potentially devious), it only made his homesickness worse. 

He wouldn’t open whatever Holst sent this time. _If_ the man sent anything. He would just break into Cyril’s room and leave the bag there. It was the perfect gift for the kid to share with Lysithea too. After poison testing one or three candies, of course. Holst really got the good stuff last time.

He folded up the letter and sealed it in an envelope. He collected the rest of the failed letters and placed them in his fire vessel. Fuel was fuel after all, even if using such basic material was mildly heretical. He kept the thing for comfort, not any religious belief. 

He flopped onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Claude didn’t feel guilty, exactly. As an outsider looking in, he would never place the blame at the feet of a nine-year-old for the crime of simply existing. Shapur was the one who arranged the attack. It was just another example of why Almyra’s blood-purity complex had to go. _‘A real Almyran’_ this and _‘A real Almyran’_ that. It only got innocent bystanders hurt.

He still hadn’t even changed his best friend’s mind over how she felt about Almyrans. She was making progress, and he was plenty proud of her, but it was so deeply ingrained. How was he supposed to change _two whole society’s_ views on each other? How was he supposed to change generations of hate? He had so many ideas in his head — busting open the locket, expanding trade, getting people to mix, maybe commissioning a book — but would that be enough? If his half-brothers played their cards right, all his hard work would crumble. If he wasn’t careful, the situation could turn even more bitter than it already was. 

A chill ran down his spine. _What if Shapur did it again?_ Baba made sure Shapur only commanded forces patrolling the eastern border after the incident, but that could have changed in the past year. What if Pejman or Mazdak tried to ‘invade’ the locket? The current raids were nothing but petty tests of strength. If the border skirmishes got creative, it could worsen relations between Fódlan and Almyra. Neither of them were afraid to get their hands dirty.

_Knock, knock._

He threw together a smile. “Door’s open.” Dimitri stepped in. Predictably, Noodle leapt at him and greeted him eagerly. It was exactly what he needed. In fact… “Got any plans tonight, prince? I’m thinking it’s a great night to stargaze.”

He just needed a little perspective to remind him his dreams were small and reachable in the large scale of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude: Pff, no way that I'll be kidnaped by a deer  
> GD: *doubt*  
> Claude: She's too nice to kidnap me! She gives me free candy and everything  
> GD: *CONCERN*
> 
> Claude: So Holst was nice to me.  
> Also Claude: That's good!  
> Claude: But he's probably trying to use me for his own motives or hurt me  
> Also Claude: That's bad!  
> Claude: He's treating me like Hilda...?  
> Also Claude: That's good!  
> Claude: ...and Hilda says he wants to be my big brother...  
> Also Claude: That's... a lot of conflicted feelings :/ sounds sus to me
> 
> Holst, reading Claude's letter: :3 aww, he liked the candies but he's too embarrassed to ask for more.
> 
> Not shown: Claude's crummy handwriting. It's legible. He's improved a lot in the past year. His tutors used to cry themselves to sleep after his lessons  
> Also not show: Claude carefully sounding out big words as he writes them. Big words make him sound smart, unless he misspells them :(
> 
> If the GD had a yearbook...  
> Ignatz: Most artistic  
> Lorenz: Most likely to be slapped  
> Claude: Most likely to be kidnapped by animals  
> Marianne: Cutest smile  
> Leonie: Most likely to become an alcoholic (just like Jeralt!)  
> Hilda: [Not submitted]  
> Lysithea: Least intimidating death machine  
> Cyril: Most likely to be doing the same job 20 years from now  
> Flayn: Most likely to look exactly the same 20 years from now  
> Raphael: Best hugs


	29. Blame it all on the mushrooms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope everyone's ready for a big chapter! Cuddle agenda time! This one's roughly double the usual size ;)

“Hey, are you getting a gift for Leonie on her birthday?” Claude casually asked Hilda, flopping onto her bed. “It’s on the 21st.”

“Really? Huh.” Hilda shrugged, going back to her project. “I’ll just give her some money. That way I don’t have to put in any work.”

He slowly nodded. He had some allowance he could spare… “She  _ does _ like money. That’s a good idea.” If  _ Hilda _ was getting Leonie something, then he was probably expected to as well. Right? If not, he could just play it off as him goofing around. 

“Not gonna scold me for choosing such a lazy gift?” She winked, lightly kicking him. “It’s in-character for me, but I don't think you can pull it off. Besides, it’s rude to steal someone else’s gift idea!”

So money… wasn’t a good gift? And Leonie could only receive one type of gift? Shit, what if he got her something and someone else got her the same thing? Would one of them have to go get her a different gift? That seemed wasteful and tedious. “I just don’t know what she likes,” he lied, sighing in an overdramatic-Hilda-fashion. “She’s complicated.” Rather,  _ birthday etiquette  _ was complicated.

Hilda burst into peals of laughter. “Leonie?  _ Complicated?!  _ She’d be happy with an old boot so long as she could find a use for it! Just get her some jerky, or a new bow, or something.”

“Raphael will probably get her jerky.” Maybe he should blow his allowance and get her a shiny new weapon? Or was that too much? Would she be offended if he spent too much money on her? Leonie seemed like the sort to get huffy if he spent money on something useless for her. She  _ hated  _ fancy stuff.

“You’re overthinking this, aren’tcha. Just go ask the professor, they’re great at gifts.”

“They got me a lint roller for my birthday,” he reminded her. 

“Uh,  _ yeah, _ ‘cause you desperately needed one with those fluff balls of yours.” She sighed, putting down her project. “Wanna go shopping? I’ll help you pick something out if you carry my stuff.” She batted her eyelashes. “And maybe if you buy me a few things…”

He pretended to think it over, internally screaming in relief. “You say that like you don’t have your own hoard of wealth.” He raised his hands as if surrendering. “Seems like a fair trade to me. Let’s get to it.”

For once, Hilda didn’t require any prodding. Shopping was one of the few things she took seriously. She dragged him down to the marketplace, already babbling about the ‘cutest’ accessory she saw the other day. 

He bought it for her, of course.

“Ooh, look at that Claude!” She tugged him over to a display that usually wouldn’t interest her at all. “I bet Leonie would love a new hunting dagger.”

He kept his smile bland as he looked them over. “I don’t know. Don’t want her to misinterpret anything.”

“Misinterpret? How?” Hilda snorted, reaching up to boop his nose. “Oh I get it. You’re worried about all the innocent animals she’ll hunt with it.”

“Hunting is a vital part of the balance of nature,” he shot back, rolling his eyes. So long as  _ he _ wasn’t the one hunting, it was fine. “That wasn’t what I meant at all. I’m just overthinking this again.”  _ Obviously _ Leonie would know he wasn’t trying to court her with a dagger. Probably? What was the Fódlan equivalent again…? A ring? He  _ just _ bought Hilda jewelry and she knew it was just a platonic, transactional payment. Leonie would be the same… probably. So long as he didn’t put too much thought into it or attach any personality to the weapon, it would be fine. Right?

“Maybe I’ll just buy her a whetstone.”

Hilda punched his shoulder. “Uh,  _ no! _ Yeesh, you gotta put  _ some _ thought into it or else she’ll think you don’t care!”

_ A thoughtful gift. Got it. _ Hilda better not be leading him astray here. She wouldn’t let him accidently propose to Leonie… right?

Fuck Fódlan and fuck all their damned rules. 

“Leonie likes hunting daggers, training weights, and fishing floats.”

Instead of jumping a foot in the air, he merely flinched. “Teach! It’s rude to sneak up on a fella like that.” He turned around to find them a few inches from his face. In their hand was a brand new fishing rod with a bow tied around it. “I see what you’re getting little miss Jeralt jr.”

They nodded. “She hates stylish hair clips and books on crestology. She prefers homemade gifts, but will accept new items so long as they aren’t too expensive. Make sure whatever you get her is practical. Bye.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but they were already weaving through the crowd. “Cool. Nice talk. Bye.”

“They really are an odd duck,” Hilda murmured, shaking her head. “But hey, that’s a few good ideas for you!”

“Practical, not too expensive…” He hummed to himself, eyeing the area around him. “Ah-hah! Look, this is perfect!”

* * *

For his birthday, Leonie gave him a restored pegasus saddle. He’d checked it over multiple times for any potential sabotage. All he found was a lot of effort put into making it good as new. She’d even branded a little deer face into the sides. And then there was the handsewn plush of Noodle. That had the honor of being his only non-essential item kept in the grab-bag he kept in case he needed to flee without much notice. It wasn’t what he would consider ‘quality’ in a standard sense, but it made up for that in personality alone. Every once in a while he took it out just to look at it. As silly as it was to be attached to a stuffed toy (especially when he had the real Noodle), something about all the careful stitches made his chest feel warm. 

He was determined to repay Leonie. As easy as it would be to dump a lot of gold on her, Hilda was right — Leonie liked to  _ work _ for her gold. A lump of money was too impersonal. Fódlan birthday gifts were supposed to be  _ thoughtful. _ They were  _ personal. _ Leonie used her skills to make him a gift, just the same as Ignatz painted him a picture, or Raphael gave him food, or Lorenz gave him a stuffy noble book and tea. Each gift made it obvious who gave it to him. There were personal touches. 

Given he hated giving out personal information on himself, it was a bit tricky for him. But then again, wasn’t that personal in itself?  _ He _ was tricky, after all.

“I’m overthinking this,” he mumbled to himself.

He plopped the book on his desk.  _ ‘Edible Flora and Fungus of Fódlan’  _ seemed like a good choice. It was filled with pictures to help identify plants. Leonie loved foraging. She probably knew some of the stuff in the book though. Maybe even all of it. She grew up in a hunting village after all. 

She might take his gift as an insult.  _ ‘You think I’m stupid enough that I don’t know all this already?’ _ He could already hear her wounded pride. Sometimes the oddest things tipped her into anger. If she interpreted the book as a passive-aggressive slight, then what? He wasn’t doing this for political reasons for once — there were no deeper ramifications if he lost her favor. At  _ most _ he might lose support in any mercenary group she joined in the future, or potentially the favor of her home village. That was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Ridiculous as it was, he wanted her to like his gift. Dipping his quill in ink, he got to work.

Claude had no false notions about his penmanship. In his opinion, his penmanship was  _ impressive. _ He’d only been writing with Fódlan’s alphabet for a year. He’d read the occasional Fódlan book growing up, but they were hard to get his hands on. He never saw any reason to  _ write _ the foreign squiggles. Still, compared to a native writer, his handwriting was… lacking. But it was  _ legible, _ and that was what mattered! Besides, Leonie’s handwriting was nothing to brag about either. She wouldn’t mind his scratchy (but legible) scribbles.

Biting the corner of his tongue, he got to work  _ very carefully. _ He wanted it to look decent, at least. He took twice as long scribing out each careful letter, first in pencil and then inked. He didn’t want to cross out any misspelled words. Misspelling something meant he had to start over, but this wasn’t a draft he could crumple up and chuck at the wall. He only had one go at adding his own notes in the margins of the book.

He started simple with what he knew. The book was full of how to identify and safely eat different plants. Some of the plants could be used for medical purposes as well. In some sections he ~~jotted~~ _carefully_ wrote down his own medical recipes. In other sections he ~~scribbled~~ _inscribed_ doses for poisons, from mild indigestion, laxatives, and of course, at what point things became fatal. Under stone-fruits, he warned about the cyanide inside the pits. Some plants were listed as ‘edible’, when only parts of them were. He made sure to write down if roots were also edible, or if leaves needed to be boiled _first_ before consumption. Some of the pages he had to leave blank due to his ignorance, but those were few and far between.

What took the longest was the fungal section. Fungus was not the easiest thing to identify for the untrained eye. He spent hours cramming notes and doodles into the margins. One species of mushroom (that was very delicious) gave  _ no _ warning that there was a similar looking species that was deadly! He made sure to put in his own warning, flexing his meager artistic skills to draw his own diagrams. He didn’t want her going out and eating a mushroom and dying all because his book told her it was okay.

Inside the back cover, he added his own page. His squiggles looked more like worms than snakes, but they got the point across. He carefully inked patterns, labeling what parts were what color. Stripes, lines, spots, and bands. He categorized them into two sides, one for venomous and one for non-venomous. 

_ ‘When in doubt, be calm and quiet. Remember, you’re a lot bigger than a snake! They bite when scared.’ _

Cracking his knuckles, he leaned back and yawned. “Done! Whew.” Noodle grumbled at him for making noise. At some point she’d curled up onto his lap without his notice. “Silly girl. Is someone grumpy that it’s past her bedtime? It’s not that late. It’s only” — he checked the window — “dawn. Whoops.”

Damn. Class was soon. He settled Noodle on the bed to finish her nap (he’d come get her at lunch), snatched up the book, and booked it to class.

He flopped into his chair ten minutes before class. Wasn’t the first time he pulled an all-nighter and it wouldn’t be the last. 

“Happy birthday Leonie!” Raphael boomed as he entered the classroom, squeezing her into a hug. She laughed and hugged him back.

“Oh my, is that so? Happy birthday, Leonie! I am ever so sorry, I was not aware!” Flayn joined the hug, as she often did. 

“Hah, thanks! It’s no problem Flayn, I didn’t exactly announce it.”

“Do you have any plans?” Ignatz asked, passing her a thin wrapped item.

“Yep! Captain Jeralt promised me some lance training today! And the professor invited me to go fishing with them.” Leonie peeled back the wrapping paper on Ignatz’s gift.

_ Wrapping paper. _ He forgot to wrap his gift!  _ Great. _ What were the implications of that? Would it show he didn’t care? He eyed around the classroom, looking for any kind of container he could use to box it up. He would just have to give Leonie her gift at a later time then. He could rush back to his room at lunch and… 

He didn’t  _ own _ any wrapping paper. Where did they even sell wrapping paper? The marketplace? Anna probably had some for sale — she had  _ everything _ for sale. Even if it meant getting ripped off, he could afford it. He was usually so much better about catching small details! He really put too much focus into making the gift perfect. He just wanted to get it right… 

“Thanks Ignatz, this is amazing!” Leonie held up a portrait of herself dressed in Jeralt’s style of clothes, the same way someone might hold up their firstborn. 

“Leonie, hey, here’s what I got you!”

Everyone began piling their gifts onto her. Even Cyril remembered to bring a (wrapped) gift. He sat back with Flayn, watching Leonie’s gift pile shrink. She was going to know.  _ Everyone _ was going to know. How was he supposed to bluff his way out of this one? Wrapping a gift was a big deal, wasn’t it? Maybe he could use Noodle’s bow? But no, it was her favorite bow, and Hilda would probably be pissed at him for giving it away. 

“Really Hilda? A bullion?” Leonie leveled a flat look at Hilda for exactly five seconds, then snickered. “I should’ve expected it. Thanks.” 

Hilda flapped a hand. “Of course, of course. Happy birthday! You could stand to be a bit more grateful you know.”

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll put this money to good use.” She beamed at the circle of classmates around her. “Thanks for the gifts everyone!”

“Hold up, there’s one more!” Hilda,  _ damn her, _ chirped. “Claaaude! Aren’t you gonna give Leonie your present? I  _ know _ you have it.”

_ Laxatives in her soup. A frog in her bedsheets. Ink in her hair. _ She was going to regret this. He chuckled and played his part. “That’s right, I got a present for you too. After all, you got me such a nice gift for my birthday, it’s only right I repay you.”

“Repay?” Leonie raised an eyebrow. “It’s a  _ gift _ Claude, you don’t owe me for it.” Was she angry at him? She seemed offended.

“Regardless.” He flourished the book, sweat trickling down the back of his neck.  _ Maybe she wouldn’t mention the lack of wrapping. _ “It’s no saddle, but with any luck you’ll get some use out of this.”

Hilda elbowed him, snickering. “You forgot to wrap it, didn’t you.”  _ Snails in her pillows. Lots and lots of snails in her pillows. _

Leonie eyed the cover. “A book?” She frowned slightly. “Hah, you sure this isn’t from Lysithea?”

“Hey! I got you a cake, not a book!”

“It’s from me,” he promised. “Figured you like foraging.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t need some fancy book to tell me what’s what. I’m from a hunter village, I bet I know more about plants than the author of this book.” She flipped it open, stopping on a random page. He’d given his best effort to draw a species of venomous spider that liked to gather under specific kinds of fruit. “What’s all this extra scribble? Guess you got this book used from some kid. Oh, gross!” She slammed it shut, glaring at him.  _ “Really? _ I hate bugs, especially poisonous ones!  _ Especially _ spiders!” 

_ Oh. _

“It’s important to be able to identify them,” he said with a shrug, looking away. “There’s probably something you don’t know in there.” _ She hated it. _

“Can’t let it go to waste, I guess.” She set it at the far corner of her desk. “Maybe it’ll get some use on our upcoming camp-out this weekend. Not that  _ I _ need it, but you fancy noble city-folk can borrow it.”

He overthought it. What an idiot. He should've just bought her a new bow. Leonie was competitive. He should have known she’d take his gift as an affront to her knowledge. So much for being  _ thoughtful. Hell, _ he  _ did _ know. And he dismissed that prediction. “I can get you something else,” he forced out, rubbing the back of his neck. “If you don’t want it, I’ll take it back. Want money instead?” What an  _ idiot. _ He opened himself up for disappointment (and whatever else stung so heavily in his chest). Rejection? He should know better. Should’ve known not to pour so much effort into anyone.

Leonie’s eyebrows hit her hairline. She wasn’t the only one to whirl on him. “You want it  _ back? _ Is this a gift or not?!”

He took a step back, splaying his hands in front of him. “That’s not what I meant, calm down.”

“You can’t just take back a gift,” Lorenz scolded him. “Honestly! Your manners are atrocious, but that is crossing a line!”

“You misunderstand me,” he bluffed.  _ Good to know. _ “I should have worded that better. Obviously it’s yours. It’s your birthday though, you deserve good gifts.”  _ Gods, he must be so transparent. _ “I’ll drop a bullion by your room later, how’s that? More money is always good.”

Hilda wrapped an arm around his shoulder, squeezing him tightly. “What he’s trying to say is that he feels bad that you don’t like his gift and that he wants to make it up to you. Isn’t that right?”

“Sure, let’s go with that,” he breezily replied, resisting the urge to glare at Hilda for calling him out. 

Again Leonie rolled her eyes. “It’s fine. Don’t throw money around like it’s nothing. Just put more thought into it next time. My interests aren’t  _ your _ interests. I can’t  _ stand _ bugs.”

“Of course. My apologies.” So… no second gift? Or should he get her something anyways? What was the  _ real, unspoken _ rule here? He blew his one and only shot, didn’t he. He  _ knew better, _ yet he still got invested.

“Please excuse me, but you are being very rude, Leonie.” Flayn crossed her arms. “How can you say such a thing? Did you not notice how nervous Claude was to give you his gift? Or how crestfallen he is now? I quite think he put a great deal of effort into your gift.”

He boggled Flayn.  _ “Crestfallen? _ Hah, you should get your head checked Flayn.” He patted her head, shaking his own. “No need to make things up to make me look sympathetic.”

Leonie laughed with him. “Don’t worry Flayn, it’s no big deal. I’m not mad at Claude, he knows that.” In contrast with her words, she jabbed a finger at him. “I’ll prove to you that I’m not some novice when it comes to foraging though. Besides, I’m sure the rest of the class will get some use out of that book.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, unwilling to add anything else that might offend her further. Everything he said seemed to tip over some unknown etiquette line. Or just Leonie’s lines, of which she had many.

“But…” Flayn began.

Leonie elbowed him good-naturedly. “You forgot it was my birthday until the last minute, didn’t you. Happens to the best of us, don’t worry. Next time, make it a little less obvious that you picked up a random book off your floor as a gift.”

“You got me.” That probably would have turned out better than his actual gift… 

The bell rang before he could add anything else. Teach strode in on the dot, and class began in earnest. He kept his smile in place despite wanting to sink into his chair.  _ Yep, he still hated birthdays. _

Later that evening he slipped off into the woods early. He didn’t feel like being around people any longer than he had to.

* * *

“I’m  _ so _ bored,” Hilda whined, slumping down to sit beside Marianne. “And tired too. I  _ hate _ camping! We’re going to be out here for  _ days! _ This is the  _ worst, _ totally not fair! Is it too much to ask for  _ one _ lazy weekend?  _ Uugh.” _

“Um… I’m sorry…”

“Not like it’s your fault.” Cyril had to stay behind too, so  _ she _ had to help setup camp. She was exhausted and starving! Across the clearing, she heard Claude, Leonie, Ignatz, and Flayn. “They’re back! Thank the Goddess, I’m  _ starving.” _

“Yes! Meat!” Raphael shouted, bolting to his feet. Between Leonie and Ignatz they carried two grouse and one rabbit. Flayn was carrying some fruit, berries, and miscellaneous greens and roots, and Claude’s arms were full of—

“Oh,  _ gross. _ Really Claude?  _ Mushrooms?” _

“You might be saying gross  _ now, _ but just you wait!” Leonie said, swiping one of Claude’s mushrooms and eating it raw. “These are the good stuff! You know how to cook ‘em, right Raph?”

“Yeah! They’ll go great in stew! Let’s get the meal started!”

She crossed her arms, turning up her nose. “No way. I don’t want any gross mushrooms.”

Raphael rubbed the back of his head. “I guess we could cook them on the side.”

Claude scoffed. “Just throw them all in. It’ll teach Hilda to be less picky.”

“Hilda is correct,” Lysithea said, rising to glower up at Raphael. “I refuse to eat any mushrooms. Goddess only knows where Claude found them.”

“On a log,” the professor reported.

“Hey, good guess! Yep, on a log. There were some more I could have harvested, but—”

Leonie punched his shoulder. “How have you not gotten yourself killed? He was going to harvest a  _ fairy circle.” _

“Only part of it! The mushrooms are at the end of their lifespan anyways. They’re just mushrooms, they aren’t going to  _ curse _ me or anything.”

Hilda wasn’t the only one to facepalm at Claude’s stupidity. “Thanks for keeping him alive, Leonie.”

She sat back and watched Lysithea browbeat Raphael into cooking the mushrooms separately. Soon enough the smell of delicious stew filled the air. She had to admit, even the mushrooms smelled good (though she still wasn’t going to eat any). The only concerning thing was that Flayn was insistent on helping Raphael. Soon enough the two were… shouting at the food to bolster the flavor? It was Raphael, she wasn’t going to question it.

“The mushrooms are finished!” Flayn declared for Raphael, scooping them up into different bowls. “Claude, as it was you who found the mushrooms, you shall receive the first plate!” She practically bounced over to him, stars in her eyes. “You are our, ahem,  _ deer _ leader after all!”

“What are those green bits?” Claude asked, looking down at the plate. “Raphael should get the first serving. He did all the cooking.”  _ Right. _ Claude hated being the first to eat anything. Plus it was good caution, given Flayn was involved in the cooking process. But even if it tasted like puke, Claude would probably eat it if Flayn gave him her puppy eyes.

“Nah, I’m still working on the stew. Go ahead and try it!”

“What about Leonie and Ignatz? C’mon, you two deserve to be rewarded. You guys caught all the meat in our stew.”

Ignatz’s eyes went wide. “Oh, um, that’s okay! I’m busy, um, maintaining my bow! Go ahead and eat Claude.”

Leonie smirked. “I’ll take first serving of the stew, sure. The mushrooms go to you first though.”

“Pst. Hilda. Try a bite,” he speared a mushroom and held it out to her.

“Pst. Claude. No.”

“Hey Lorenz! Come here, try these mushrooms!”

“Claude, I am busy!” Lorenz, who was not busy at all, called back.

“Very well. It’s my honor to…” he stood up and sat down on a different log, “offer the first bite to our dear Teach! They’re the commander of this camping trip.” He elbowed them, grinning, and offered up his plate.

They cleared their throat. “Claude, you should eat before me. Commander eats last, not first.”

“Nah, you deserve to be spoiled, Teach! Go on, let us know how it tastes!” Then, back to Flayn, “seriously, what are those green bits?”

“Parsley!” Raphael said. “I think.”

“Reassuring,” Claude muttered to himself, probably not intending to be heard. He lifted his fork, wiggling a mushroom at the professor. “C’mon.”

They stared at him. “No.”

“No?! Teach, you don’t want to try it?! Why not?! Raphael and Flayn worked so hard on it!”

Flayn jolted, then her shoulders noticeably drooped.

The professor’s glare would have killed a lesser man, but Claude just wiggled a big mushroom. “I would love to try a bite, Claude,” they mechanically (and loudly) declared. Still glaring, they opened their mouth and allowed Claude to feed them the mushroom. “Delicious,” they stated, zero emotion.

“Oh, you think so professor? Are you just saying that?”

They chewed, frowning. “Hm. Not half bad.” Claude plopped the plate in their lap, and returned back to sitting beside her and Marianne. 

“Here’s another portion for you, Claude!” Flayn placed a plate in his lap. “I hope you enjoy it just as much as the professor!”

He winked, lifting a mushroom up to his mouth and chomping into it. “Of course! Mmm. These are delicious, Raph!”

“Good to hear it!” 

“When’s the stew gonna be done?” Hilda whined, her stomach grumbling.

“Heh, maybe you should eat some of these mushrooms if you’re so hungry,” Leonie said, accepting a plate of said mushrooms. “Mm, these look—”

“Don’t eat that!” Claude snapped.

Leonie dropped her fork and the mushroom on it. Everyone stared at him. He stabbed two mushrooms on his plate and held them up. “Look. These two are different.”

Hilda squinted at them. “Claude, they’re both brown mushrooms. So what?”

“There are little white dots on this one.” There were, in fact, faint teeny-tiny white dots on them. “Also, they taste slightly different.”

“Okay…?”

“Raphael, did you add any extra mushrooms? These ones are not the ones I harvested.”

Flayn raised her hand. “Oh, that was me! I was worried your harvest would not be sufficient, but I was fortunate and found another patch! Um, they are the same, yes? Surely a few white spots mean nothing.”

“Not quite. These ones are poisonous.”

There was a beat of silence as the camp processed his nonchalant statement.

“How poisonous…?” Leonie asked.

Hilda eyed her best friend, the idiot who just  _ ate _ poisoned mushrooms. “Please tell me Flayn didn’t accidentally harvest deathcaps.”

“Nothing deadly. All the mushrooms need to be tossed though, the whole batch is contaminated.” He sniffed the mushroom. “I’ve never actually tried this kind before, but I’ve read about them. Either me ‘n Teach are going to be emptying our bowels for the next couple of days, or… hm, we might feel a bit off. Flayn, where did you even find these?”

“I am so sorry!” Flayn cried, lips wobbling. “I will heal you! Can mushroom poisoning be healed?”

Claude shrugged. “Not unless you can rip the spores out of my stomach. Don’t worry, it’s no big issue, just be careful in the future. Could’ve been a lot worse. There are some nasty types of fungus out there. There’s this one kind that makes you emit a white steam from your body… uh, so I’ve heard.” He turned to the professor, huffing a laugh. They looked distinctly queasy. “You’re not going to die, Teach! Ease up a little. Trust me, you’ll ease up either way pretty soon.”

“Claude, you’re on weed duty all weekend.”

“Awww. Be that way then. Raph, how’s the stew coming? If we get something in our stomachs soon, the effects probably won’t be so intense. Maybe.”

“The stew!” Raphael scrambled to keep it from burning.

The professor stood up, still pinching their brow. “Ignatz, you’re with me. I want to double check everything is secure before I can’t anymore. No slacking off if I’m indisposed, any of you. Lysithea, Leonie, you’re both in charge. Lysithea, ensure no one does anything stupid. Leonie, I trust you know how to hold down a position appropriately.”

“Understood, professor!”

“Professor, why am  _ I _ not in charge? Perhaps this poison is affecting you already. Clearly I am the most optimal choice to lead.”

“Suck it Gloucester, I’m in charge of your noble ass.”

“Why, how dare you—!”

“Perhaps you should lie down,” Lysithea suggested to Claude. “What steps should we take?”

“Don’t worry so much. If this is what I think it is, it should be pretty pleasant.” Claude paused, tapping his chin. “Unless it’s the one that causes liver failure…? Nah, probably not. We’ll be fine though.”

“M-maybe we should take you both back to the monastery,” Marianne whispered, shoulders hunched up to her cheeks.

“I’m 80% sure it’s fine. We’ve got two and a half healers, it’s fine. Besides, I have no idea when this’ll start kicking in.” He grimaced down at his abandoned mushroom plate. “I ate at least a couple of them, so who knows how potent this is going to be.”

“This is why you don’t eat random mushrooms in the woods,” Hilda muttered to him, hating that he was making her worry.

“Relax.” He paused, tensing a bit. “Leonie, did you bring that book I got for your birthday? I think there’s an entry on these mushrooms.”

“Yeah, I brought it. Hah, guess it did turn out to be useful!” 

“Allow me.” Lysithea took the book, which Leonie gave no protest over. She began flipping through it, immediately frowning. “This book has two authors. Or rather, someone added their own notes. This may take some time to decipher the handwriting.”

For just a flash, she caught annoyance in Claude’s expression. “Give it here.” He flipped to somewhere near the back. “Here. It’s not much, but this is what we’re dealing with.”

He flipped the book to show off the pictures. An Ignatz-quality drawing detailed a mushroom. In the same thin and neat handwriting were listed points about how to find them. Next to the good drawing was a crude rendition of another mushroom, probably what was supposed to be the same thing. Its top was peppered with little dots. An arrow pointed to the dots labeling them  _ ‘dangerus’. _ Underneath was a listed warning:  _ ‘Symptoms: hallucinations, mood-swings, paranoia, nausea, dizziness, relaxed inhibitions, muscle weakness, euphoria, confusion, vomiting, altered understanding of reality. Otherwise benign, not deadly.’ _ Somehow the author misspelled ‘dangerous’ but got everything else right.

Claude went on a spiel about fungus, and how a lot of species looked similar but varied wildly on the poison scale. Despite  _ literally _ being poisoned, the dumbass was downright excited to share his mushroom facts.

“You’re going to experience  _ all _ of that?” Lysithea interrupted him.

“No, probably only some of them. Some people actually seek these mushrooms out for enjoyment. I’m curious about how realistic the hallucinations will be, if I experience any at all.”

“Goddess,” she muttered into her palms. “Of course. You’re the only person I know who gets  _ excited _ over being poisoned.”

“What? It’s interesting! It’s fine. I’ve experienced some mentally-compromising substances before, I know how to control myself through them. Just wish I copied more information down…”

“Hold up. I remember when you bought that book. There weren't any of those sloppy notes in it.” It clicked. “That’s  _ your _ handwriting!”

He tensed, his jaw twitching. “First of all, rude.”

“These are your personal notes?” Leonie asked, scooting closer. “You didn’t mention that.”

“Just a couple of things here and there. Figured that way if you knew everything in the book, at least something might be interesting.” He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck. “Figured if you ran into some poisonous wildlife, you’d at least have a guide to help you out. And hey, I really came through for me!”

Leonie thumbed through the book. “Claude, you wrote  _ all _ of this? There are a ton of notes! It must have taken you ages!”

“Just a few hours, it’s no big deal.”

Hilda sighed dramatically. “He practically begged for my help getting a gift. He wanted to get you something that was ‘just right’ too, wasn’t willing to settle for anything but the best.”

_ “Hilda.” _

Leonie set the book down and pulled him into a hug. “Sorry I said I didn’t like your book. You should’ve said something! I thought it was full of spider pictures!”

Claude squirmed at Leonie’s attention, throwing out excuses. Leonie, in typical Leonie fashion, bull rushed over everything he said. For better or worse, once she had her mind set on something, she got stubborn. It was  _ very _ amusing to watch Claude struggle to deal with her sudden barrage of questions about the book. Soon enough though, the two fell into a discussion about herbal remedies or survival techniques or whatever. 

“It’s a sliding scale. Poison and medicine are the same thing, it’s just about the doses.” He pointed to a picture of some flower, Leonie nodding along with him and adding in her own facts.

_ “Nerds…!” _ she whisper-shouted. 

Eventually the professor returned. Claude ushered them over and cheerfully launched into his hypothesis about what the mushrooms were going to do to them. Claude finished just in time for the stew to finish.  _ Finally, food. _

“Ah. Claude. I feel it,” the professor said as they sat down on a different log.

Claude perked up. “What do you feel?”

They frowned. “Floaty…?”

“Cool. Let me know if…” he trailed off, eyes latching onto something in his soup. “Whoa.”

Hilda followed his line of sight. His soup looked normal to her. “What is it?”

He blinked a few times. “Nothing. It’s kicking in for me too.” He stirred his soup around, eyes growing wide.  _ “Whoa.” _

She watched him stare into his stew for a bit. “Better eat some of that before it gets cold.”

“Huh?” He tore his eyes away from his stew. “Oh, the stew. Right. It’s, uh.” He frowned. “I forget the word. Looks neat.”

“Do you need to be fed?” she drawled, calculating who best to rope into feeding Claude.

He rolled his eyes and (thankfully) started taking little bites of stew. She kept having to prod him to keep eating though. Apparently mushroom poisoning gave him the attention span of a three year old.

“How are you feeling?” Flayn asked, no longer so upset. Her head lolled to the side. “You seem, hm, relaxed.”  _ Did he? _ Hilda wouldn’t describe him as  _ relaxed. _ Flayn on the other hand… 

“Flayn, did you eat the mushrooms too?”

“Me? Um, no… I… do not think so…?” She blinked rapidly, shaking her head. “Oh my. Perhaps I did. I feel… a touch dizzy. It is not a bad dizzy?” She stumbled to her feet, nearly falling over. “Oh my. I suppose I did.” She giggled, stumbling over to the professor’s log (with Lorenz’s help for balance), and slumped against them. Odd that she wasn’t claiming Claude’s lap like usual. 

Claude heaved a loud sigh, leaning to use Marianne as a backrest. “You know… this feels real good… heh, floaty, yeah…” She darted a worried look to Marianne, who patted Claude’s hair. He lazily rolled his head, eyes half-lidded. “Oh hey there.”

“Claude, do not crowd Marianne,” Lorenz scolded. “Would you like me to remove him?”

“Oh, um, n-no, he’s okay.” Even as she spoke, Claude oozed himself to drape further over her. “Claude, um, you should f-finish your stew.”

“Little queasy,” he hummed, smiling slightly. “I ate enough, I’m good. Besides, me and the stew have an understanding.”

Hilda snorted. “Did the stew talk to you?”

He frowned. “No. I just understand it.” His eyes drifted, catching on something else. “That leaf is  _ so _ green.”

“Leaf? You mean the grass?”

“Oh. Yeah. Does grass count as a leaf? Is grass just… a big forest? A  _ little _ big forest.” He bent over, squinting into the grass. “Whoa. There’re little deer and snakes living in the little forest.”

“And there’s the hallucinations,” she muttered. 

He frowned up at her. “Oh. Damn, they’re not real? Aw, I want a palm-sized deer.”

“Look, Claude’s right! Found a snake!” Raphael picked up a worm. “See? It’s not a worm, it’s a tiny snake!”

Claude burst into laughter. Not his usual laugh either. No, he doubled over with the force of his laughter, slapping his knee. Hilda nearly dropped her stew in shock. His eyes scrunched up with the force of his grin. She’d never seen him laugh and smile so freely.

“He’s sure having a good time,” Lysithea commented as Claude continued to laugh himself sick. “How do you feel, professor?”

“Your professor is not currently available,” they replied in an odd tone of voice, staring ahead blankly. “Ask another time.”

“Right… Are we sure they aren’t dying?”

“Dying? Hah! I feel great!”

“We can see that, Claude.”

The professor took this moment to bend over and vomit. A few moments later they sat back up like nothing happened, scooching a few feet away from the mess. “All is well, worry not.”

Claude bumbled to his feet, swaying dangerously. He started pacing, idly searching for something. 

“Careful! You’ll fall over.” Raphael got up to steady Claude. Claude immediately slumped against him, then wrapped him in a hug. Apparently deciding a hug wasn’t enough, Claude crawled  _ onto _ Raphael and clung to him like a sloth. Raphael maneuvered Claude to sit down with him. Better  _ Raphael _ deal with him than Hilda. He was happy to fill Raphael’s lap.  _ Very happy, _ judging by how enthusiastically he took to nestling up against Raphael.

“Should we do something…?”

Raphael shrugged. “He’s just hugging me. I don’t mind. Hah, who knew Claude was so affectionate!” Hilda winced.  _ She _ knew Claude had a hidden affectionate side. She also knew Claude was very particular about who he trusted that part of himself with.

“Pet meeeee…” Claude  _ whined, _ butting his head against Raphael.

“He’s not going to turn into an animal, is he?” Ignatz asked. “Or, maybe he thinks he’s an animal?”

Raphael shrugged again, then began patting Claude’s head. Claude jerked away, grumbling. “Not my hair!” Raphael tried stroking down his back to better results. Claude melted against Raphael, curling up in his best imitation of a lap-cat.

Claude went quiet for a bit, aside from a nonsensical tune he was humming. Occasionally he made little clicks from his throat or short whistles. The professor was like a statue, staring off into nothingness.

Leonie laughed after a time. “He looks so relaxed. Maybe I should take a bite of those mushrooms myself. Flayn looks blissed out too — looks like she found the  _ really _ good mushrooms.”

A nearby thump startled Hilda. There was a bird on the ground. A bird just fell out of the sky. Glancing up, she spotted a small flock of birds. They acted drunk, careening randomly around the sky. Another bird flopped onto the ground. Despite the birds landing somewhat roughly, they didn’t look to be in pain. If anything… 

“Is he affecting the animals?” Lysithea whispered.

The birds looked just as blissed out as Claude.

“See anything interesting?” Hilda asked him, eyes still glued to the happy birds.

“It’s a nice sunset…” he murmured. It was neither sunset nor was he even looking at the sky. He stared at a rock. “Forgot how pretty home could be…”

There was a beat of silence. She cleared her throat. “Home?”

“Can’t remember the last time I was in the mountains… Wow, I missed it here. Hey Ignatz, are you painting it? Don’t you think it looks nice…?”

Ignatz shot them all an uneasy glance. “Um, yes. It’s very nice.”

Lorenz straightened. “It’s very beautiful here Claude. Can you describe it some?”

Claude kept smiling that dopey smile of his. “There’s the… the mountains. The desert’s pretty at this time of night. The wyvern’s are… they’re everywhere. The trees, all the leaves are green and fresh. And the city is…” he trailed off, his smile diminishing some as his brow furrowed. “Lorenz? How come you came on this trip?”

_ Trip? _ Lorenz cleared his throat. “You invited me.” He pointed at the mushrooms, still sitting in their untouched pot. 

Claude’s smile only fell further. His eyes darted around as he sat up. 

“Is it wearing off?” Lysithea asked.

“This isn’t home. Why is my head…” He paused, color leaking out of his face.  _ “Poison?” _

“Yes Claude, Flayn accidentally poisoned you. Do you recall now?”

All at once Claude’s eyes flew wide. He scrambled to get off of Raphael’s lap.

Leonie laughed. “Looks like it’s wearing off. No need to be embarrassed.”

“It hasn’t worn off,” Hilda corrected, immediately wary as she read Claude. “Hey, you’re okay. It’s not a lethal poison.”

Claude wasn’t listening. He was already scrambling away from them all, not very successful as his balance was apparently shot. Out of nowhere he brandished a dagger, shaking as he pointed it at them. “Stay back. You’re not getting any secrets out of me!”

She was up on her feet without thought, spreading her hands in front of her. “Careful Claude, you’ll cut yourself! Calm down, you’re safe.”

He pointed his dagger at Lorenz. “Y’think I haven’t been poisoned before? You think you can succeed where everyone else failed? Arrogant.” His breathing came in sharp little pants now. “Who’re you working for? Gloucester? The Ghouls? My half-brothers?” He shuddered, pupils the size of pinpricks. “Did they find me…?”

_ “Half-brothers?”  _ she mouthed, meeting the bewildered looks from her classmates.

“Claude, you’re not making sense,” Lorenz said, grimacing. “Put down the weapon and—” The idiot made the mistake of stepping closer to Claude.

“Stay back!” Claude swiped out clumsily, missing Lorenz entirely.

She yanked Lorenz by the back of his jacket. “Give him space unless you want to be stabbed!”

Yelling was a mistake. Claude flinched away from her, falling to the ground as he scuttled back. “You can’t have my head. Don’t hurt me, Hilda. It’s all lies, don’t believe them. It’s not true, they’re lying to you, that’s not who I am.” Shaking his head back and forth, he was trembling. She stepped back further, tugging Lorenz with her. His eyes softened, then hardened. “That’s right, step back. You’re better off giving up. No one’s killed me yet, you’re nothing special. They probably told you I’d roll over and die, didn’t they. Said I was a coward. They lied.” He managed to get himself into a crouch, baring his teeth. “Right Lorenz? Were you in on it too? You know then. Your father didn’t get me last month, so he told you to finish the job. Tough luck. I refuse to die.”

_ No. His ribs, the strangulation marks, he couldn’t mean…? _ A handful of birds fluttered to Claude’s feet.  _ Oh thank the Goddess. _ Nothing calmed Claude quite like a few animal buddies.

“You’re deranged, Claude,” Lorenz slowly, calmly stated. “You are confusing reality for paranoid nonsense. Are you hearing voices, or perhaps seeing things? Be calm. You are safe here.”

“No!” Claude shot to his feet, somehow not falling over himself. He ground his teeth, inch by inch erasing fear with grit. More birds gathered at his feet. “I won’t die. Survival first. Whatever it takes. I’ve come too far to die here.” Shifting, steadying himself, Claude stopped shaking. “I won’t let you kill me. You’ll have to do better than poison to kill me.” Brandishing his dagger, he took a step towards them. At his feet, birds of all sorts advanced with him.

“Easy Claude,” she whispered, stepping back. “We’re friends, remember? Besties. I won’t hurt you.”

“Like I haven’t heard that one before!” he snapped, guarding his chest with his white-knuckled dagger. “You want me dead, just like everyone else!”

The birds at his feet ruffled their feathers, agitated. Claude’s stance was defensive, but slowly he was advancing towards them. Right up until a bird landed on his shoulder.

Claude’s expression completely cracked. He screamed, falling to the ground and dropping his dagger. The birds —  _ all _ of the birds — shot away like he was on fire. Claude clutched at his shoulder like he was clutching at a wound. Primal fear unlike anything she’d ever seen from him — hell, from  _ anyone —  _ was plain for all to see. He violently shook, whipping his head around him but otherwise petrified.

Other than tiny gasps, he was absolutely  _ silent. _

Raphael stood up, hands open and empty. “Just some birds, bud. You’re safe with us, don’t w—” His voice died. Claude trembled, unmoving aside from tiny movements to shrink away from Raphael. Crestfallen, Raphael sat back down. Claude stopped trying to inch away, but he was still terrified.

“Claude, can you hear me?” Marianne’s timid whisper broke. She was on the ground, crawling to slowly inch closer to him.

His eyes darted to her, mouthing silent words. 

“Can you hear me, Claude?” she repeated. “Can you nod?”

He jerked a nod, still silently mouthing words.

“Can I come closer?”

Another nod. By some miracle, Claude let Marianne close to him. It made sense, given how non-threatening she was. “My shoulder,” he barely whispered, still clutching where the bird had been. “They took my shoulder.”

“Um, d-don’t worry. I can, um, heal you.”

“You have to run,” he continued to whisper. “I’m surrounded. Snipers. Stay away. They’ll target you if you’re too close to me. Run away, save yourself.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “They’re everywhere. Don’t die for me, Mari.”

Marianne bit her lip. “Um… it’s okay. You aren’t alone, we’ll keep you safe.” She looked at Hilda. “I-in fact, um, I think Hilda found and defeated the snipers.”

Hilda could’ve kissed Marianne right then and there. She stood up, wincing as Claude flinched away from her. “Yes! That’s right! I have defeated the horrible snipers! You’re safe now Claude!”

“No need to worry, Claude.” Ignatz quietly added. “I scouted the area and there’s no more danger.”

“You got them all? You’re sure?” His eyes fell back to Marianne. “Promise?”

“P-promise. No more snipers.”

Slowly Claude relaxed, crawling the rest of the way to Marianne and slumping against her. “How long till the poison’s gone? There’s so much going on and I’m a defenseless target.”

Marianne petted down his back, just as Raphael did earlier. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how long. Maybe you can sleep it off?”

“You aren’t defenseless!” Raphael added. “You’ve got us! We’ll keep you nice and safe, no matter what!”

Claude swallowed thickly, nodding. “What do you want from me in return?”

“Er. Nothing? We’re friends. Friends help out friends.”

“Everyone  _ always _ wants something from me. Just tell me what you want.”

“Um… what we want from you, is for you to be safe,” Marianne said. “Remember when we were in that cave, and you helped me calm down? You didn’t do that because you wanted something from me, you did it because you’re my friend.”

“The… cave?” His expression twisted, gripping Marianne tightly. “We’re not still there, are we? This is real… right?” His breathing was picking up again, raising his eyes to the sky. “Mari, what’s real? Not the cave, please, please, I can’t go back. Trapped, Mari, I’m trapped, I can’t—I can’t—I’m stuck, help, I can’t get out. The ceiling’s falling. I don’t want to die here.”

“We’re in a field. No cave.” Marianne pulled his head down to look at her. “There’s no cave, Claude.”

He slowly blinked at her. “Say my name again.”

Whatever that meant, Marianne sucked in a breath. “Claude. We’re in an open field, Claude. Trust me, please Claude.” Then in a whisper that she probably wasn’t supposed to hear, “you are Claude here, and no one else. It wasn’t  _ Claude _ that got stuck in a cave… um, r-right?”

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice carrying in the silence. “I trust you.” Marianne eased Claude back over to the log. He was back to his cuddly ways. But now he was more like a child clutching a bear stuffy rather than his earlier dopey bliss.

“Is it over?” Hilda whispered, sick to her stomach. She never wanted to see Claude scared ever again. “Please tell me it’s over.”

“Anything we can do for you?” Leonie asked, careful to keep her voice down. She was sandwiched between the professor and Flayn. The professor was still blank-faced, but Flayn was clutching Leonie tightly, apparently asleep.

Claude made a low croak with a cluck of his tongue at the end. She wondered if that was another one of his weird clucking-codes that he had going with Noodle. He untangled one arm from Marianne and reached out blindly. He didn’t find Leonie but rather Lysithea, who he tugged closer to him. 

After an exaggerated eye-roll, Lysithea scooted beside him. “First he tells us to stay away, and now he’s clingy again.” she half-heartedly glared. “Make up your mind. Is this what you want?”

“Hilda’s too much of a prude to cuddle with me…” he bemoaned, dregs of fear finally gone.

Lorenz shook his head. “It seems he got over his paranoia quickly.”

“Let’s hope he doesn’t swing back to it just as fast. I don’t know if I can handle another of those mood-swings.”

“Excuse me? Did you just call me a  _ prude?” _ Finally Claude was acting more like himself. Kinda.

“You won’t let me sit in your lap, or sit in my lap, or cuddle-nap, or snuggle at all. We’re  _ besties _ Hilda!”  _ Like himself, just much, much more openly cuddly. Great. _

Lysithea huffed as Claude took to nuzzling her shoulder. “What am I, a stand-in?”

“No… We can cuddle-nap too…” Lysithea yelped as Claude tugged her fully into his lap. 

Hilda slapped a palm over her forehead, but moved to sit beside him nonetheless. “I’m not a prude.” He glomped onto her, all without fully letting go of Marianne or dislodging Lysithea. “Someone’s feeling better.”

“Hmm? Hilda, your hair’s real pretty. It’s got… waves. Snakes.” He tried to stroke down her hair and missed, patting her cheek instead.

“My hair does  _ not _ have snakes in it!”

He pouted. “It’s a good thing. Snakes are friends… Your hair’s better than your eyes. Don’t like those eyes.” Before she could say anything he hummed and kept going. “But they’re fine on your face.”

“I have  _ so _ many questions,” she mumbled.  _ Seriously,  _ how much of his paranoid rambles were based off of truth? Everyone knew Lorenz’s father was a suspect for the death of Claude’s uncle, but there was no proof. That one was (hopefully) a product of his paranoia. But his irrational fears of being killed, mentions of being poisoned,  _ mentions of having half-brothers? _ And his equal terror about being trapped in a cave… 

She knew which story of his matched up with a fear of caves. That  _ eerily personal _ story of his. Was it possible that Claude’s overactive imagination was the cause? She used to have nightmares about Almyrans killing and torturing Holst (okay, she  _ still _ did), but that wasn’t out of any  _ actual _ experience. She  _ really _ hoped Claude’s cave story was fictional. Maybe he did get trapped in a cave once as a kid and exaggerated it? She didn’t want to think about the alternative… 

“Were he in any reasonable state, this behavior would be vastly unacceptable. Is he bothering you ladies?”

She took a deep breath, shoving all those thoughts into a deep, deep box, never to see the light of day. “Congratulations Deer,” she deadpanned, “you’re now privy to highly classified information: Claude’s a closeted cuddle-bug. Like, seriously, very snuggly.”

Claude’s head tilted towards her, then slumped face-first into her boobs.

_ “Claude!” _ Lorenz shouted.

Hand still on her face, she just sighed again. “And you wonder why I haven’t cuddled with you.”

He hummed, patting her chest. She resisted the urge to grab his wrist and apply pressure. Had he groped her, rather than the light and exploring pats he gave her, she would have shoved him off, impaired bestie or not.   


He lifted his head, his neck bobbing a bit as he struggled to right himself. He frowned at her, bordering on pouting. “I’m sorry Hilda.”

“You better be.”

“I’m sorry Hilda, because Dimitri has  _ way _ better boobs than you.” He gave her a downright  _ pitying _ look. “You really can’t compare.” He patted her chest one last time before slinging his arms around her shoulders. He seemed to forget about Marianne, nearly forgetting about Lysithea too. 

Leonie cracked up. Lysithea tried to get up, but her movement alerted Claude. He switched to wrap an arm around her waist. “Claude, I refuse to be held hostage while you talk about your boyfriend.”

Claude whined. “He’s not my boyfriend!”

“Oh? But he allows you to touch his chest?”

Claude’s dopey smile came back in full force. “Yeah… He’s the  _ best _ snuggler. Ever. He’s so strong, you just don’t understand. He’s the best.”

“I’ve got it! We just need to keep him on happy topics while we wait this out.” She winked to the rest of the class, then turned back to him. “Dimitri sure makes you happy, doesn’t he.”

“Mm-hmm… He’s like… a furnace. A hot, sexy furnace full of muscles and cheese.”

“Pick a different topic!” Lysithea snapped.

“Pff. So you guys snuggle, but you aren’t dating?” Leonie bounced her eyebrows at him, not that he seemed to notice.

Claude rubbed his cheek against her shoulder.  _ “I _ snuggle  _ every _ day. You guys are the weird ones!” He busied himself by nuzzling further against her, inching his nose under her chin.  _ Awkward, _ but whatever. “Stupid Fódlan. No wonder everyone’s so stuffy. Missing out…”

Hilda coughed into her fist. “He doesn’t differentiate much between human snuggling and animal snuggling. And we all know how often he does the latter.”

Understanding dawned on the whole class. “That explains  _ so much _ about him.”

“Not true!” Claude interrupted. “Humans have… like… daggers ‘n swords ‘n poison. Gotta be careful snuggling with humans.” He directed this at everyone, raising a finger. He was very serious for someone high on mushrooms. “Don’t cuddle with  _ anyone _ you don’t implicitly trust not to stab you. Gotta be  _ really _ sure they don’t hate you.  _ And! _ Be extra, extra careful, ‘cause most people fake it. They’ll be all nice, and you think they’re safe, then bam! Knife to the side!” He wilted. “I never learn my lesson… please don’t stab me, Hilda…”

As Claude continued to mutter about the frequency of human betrayal and the reliability of animals, everyone exchanged frantic looks. 

“Buddy, we won’t hurt you,” Raphael said, keeping his voice low this time.   


Claude beamed. “Haha! Exactly, like that! That’s how they always sound! See, you get it Raph.”

“This… explains a great deal,” Lorenz quietly murmured. “If he cannot find it within himself to trust people, I suppose he turned to animals instead. This entire ordeal…” Hilda could only nod in numb agreement. She knew Claude had issues, but this… 

“He’s going to be so pissed when this is over.”

“Who is?” Claude asked. She patted his head. “Not the hair,” he happily hummed. She scratched her nails lightly down his back instead and he melted.

“We need to change the subject.” As much as this was the perfect opportunity to learn more about Claude, she knew he’d already said far, far more than he ever wanted them to know. “It’s not right.”

Even Lorenz nodded.

“So…” Ignatz rubbed the back of his neck. “Favorite animal, Claude? That seems like a safe topic.”

Claude lit up. “Wyverns! No, wait, snakes! Deer! No, wyverns, they’re like snakes but they fly. Not birds, I love Ama but she’s so annoying. Oh, lions! Like Dimitri! I wanna meet a real lion…”

Leonie snickered. “You really are smitten with Dimitri. You  _ sure _ you two aren’t dating?”

“Nope. Only married.”

Hilda laughed, praying the light atmosphere would last. “Awww, you two take being ‘wyvern-married’ so seriously. It’s so cute.” Claude was going to die of embarrassment when he was back to normal.

Claude pouted at her. “Obviously. He’s Noodle’s daddy.”

“Sounds like someone’s got a big crush.”

“I want him to crush me  _ so _ badly…”

Lysithea threw up her hands, escaping from Claude much to his distress. “Too much information!”

Hilda shook her head. “Yes Claude, we know you want Dimitri to bend you in half.”

“Whoa… yeah, I really do want that. How’d you know? Hiiiilda. Don’t tell anyone, but I want him to…” Claude faltered, burying his face in his hands. “Nevermind.”

“Awww, does Claude want to kiss his crush?”

“No! That’s too much!”

Hilda frowned. “You… don’t want to kiss him?”

“I dunno. I’ve never had a crush before!”

“Wow. You guys haven’t even kissed? I thought for sure you two were fucking.”

_ “Leonie!” _ Lorenz shouted.

Claude shot Leonie an absolutely miserable expression. “I don’t know how! I can’t find any books about anything! Not on dating, or romance, or biology, or… or anything!” He slumped his head back against Marianne, who timidly patted his back. “How do people even kiss? How do you keep from slamming your nose into the other person?  _ Why _ do they kiss? Does the tongue taste good or something? I don’t get it…”

All of them exchanged varying looks on the range between ‘Oh no this is sad’ to ‘Dear Goddess he needs help  _ now.’ _

To their shared alarm, Claude began to sniffle.  _ Damn, _ another mood-swing. He turned his dampening eyes on  _ her. _ “I don’t even know how spoons are used in cuddling! I can’t figure it out Hilda! I can’t figure it out, and Dimitri’s gonna hate me when he figures out I’m clueless!”

Eyes turned to her. “It’s okay Claude,” Ignatz nervously tried to comfort him. “I don’t know how spoons are used in cuddling either.”

“Bwuh, Claude, I don’t know!” Hilda threw up her hands. “Who told you that?”

“You did.”

She balked. “Um. You must have misunderstood.”

He buried his face against Marianne, his shoulders beginning to suspiciously shake. Marianne patted his back, but it didn’t make a difference. “I don’t know what I’m doing! He’s so perfect, I don’t wanna lose him when he decides he hates me. I should know better. Everyone  _ always _ decides they hate me in the end…”

Claude’s sniffles were deafening in the silence. She didn’t just feel bad for him now. Now she felt dirty. This was something that ran deep in Claude. It was something he didn’t talk about. And now he was sharing it with them without realizing.

“I don’t hate you,” Marianne whispered to him. “R-remember what you told me? No one, um, no one deserves to be hated or alone…”

He nodded against her.  _ “I _ know that, but other people don’t… Even Hilda wants me to die, what’ll I do when Dimitri says the same?”  _ When, not if. _

Hilda gaped. “That’s not true! Claude, you’re not thinking right. You’re my bestie, remember? I’d never say something like that.”

“But you do! You’re always saying I deserve to be attacked, and be hated, and that you hope I die…” To everyone’s horror, tears began to run down his cheeks.

“No, no no no Claude, I’d never say that about you! I can’t think of  _ anyone _ I’d say that about! You’re misremembering things.”

“I hate it when she says stuff like that. But I can’t tell her it hurts, ‘cause then she’ll hurt me more.” His head bobbed a bit, not quite focusing on her. “Don’t tell Hilda, ‘kay? I don’t want her to feel bad, and she can’t know. No one can know.” He scrubbed at his eyes, then buried his face against Marianne.

“I swear I never said any of that,” she whispered to the rest of the Golden Deer.  _ Why did he keep acting afraid of her?  _ What was going on in his head? What was she  _ missing? _

“We should… change the subject,” Lorenz said, resolutely staring at his clasped hands and not at Claude.

“We can’t just gloss over the fact that he thinks  _ everyone _ will eventually hate him!” Leonie snapped.

“Wrong. We can and will.” Lysithea pointed to the professor (who might actually be a stone statue by now). “The mushrooms have altered his perception and emotional state. This isn’t some truth serum. It’s impossible to tell how honest he’s being, and how much the poison is speaking for him.”

She cleared her throat. “Right. Okay. Hey, um, Claude, wanna talk about your raging crush on Dimitri again?” Good thing that wasn’t a secret (even though Claude was still convinced it was).

“‘Bout Dima?” Claude pulled away from Marianne (slightly). He took the bait, hook line and sinker. “I dunno what to do. What do I do when I wake up and my crush is over? Crushes are only temporary, what am I gonna do when mine’s all done? I don’t want to stop loving him! He’s so strong, and kind, and pretty, and he doesn’t hate me, and he’s really really strong and he can hold me, and he’s  _ so _ good at snuggling, and I like the way he looks at me, and the attention he gives me, and when he fusses over me, and he’s warm, and he’s so good with Noodle, and…” Claude continued to wax drunken poetic about Dimitri, his spirit lifting as he seemed to forget his worries.

Hilda hated to interrupt his happy rambling (actually not really, it was  _ sickeningly _ sappy, and not the cute fluffy kind) but she needed to clarify something. “Claude, how quickly does a crush fade?”

“Don’t interrupt me. He’s got  _ such _ silky hair when he remembers to wash it. Okay. Um, crushes… I don’t know. Instantly? It’s like falling, right? One minute you’re happy, then you fall out of love and hit the ground and get sad. Or dead?” He flapped one arm, nearly smacking her. “Gotta have, uh, both wings. One per person. It’s poetic.”  _ Poetic nonsense, sure Claude. _

Lorenz pinched his brow. “This is rather… frankly it goes beyond pathetic. Distressing. This is very distressing. Fear not Claude, it will be my honor to educate you in the manners of romance.”

“Pass. You’ll sabotage me.”

“I will not! Do you know  _ how _ to trust?”

“Nope!” he cheerfully chirped. “That’s dangerous!”

Lorenz leaned back, raising his eyes to the heavens. “The Alliance is doomed.”

Claude yawned in her face, proceeding to curl his arms and legs around her. “I’m tired. I’m coooold. Where’s Dima? He’s so warm Hilda, you wouldn’t believe it…”

The sun  _ was _ beginning to set and it was starting to get cold. An idea sparked. “Okay, let’s get you put to bed mister. Then you can sleep the rest of this off! Like the professor.” Who appeared to be sleeping with their eyes open.

He smiled. “With you?”

“Er. Eheh… how about with Raphael. You like hugging him, don’t you?”

His smile vanished. “You still don’t wanna cuddle…?”

She bit her lip, looking away from him. When he wasn’t holding back, he had a set of sad eyes that rivaled her own. The worst part was that unlike her sad-face, right now Claude was  _ genuinely _ as sad as he looked. Sad because she didn’t want to sleep with him. “I’m just… not really sure…”  _ It’s just Claude, _ she tried to tell herself. 

“Um, he can sleep with me…”

Claude beamed. “Yes! You’re the second best cuddler  _ ever! _ And no one can beat Dimitri, so that’s really saying something.” 

Marianne’s cheeks stained red. Hilda’s jaw hung open.

“Wait, Marianne, you…?”

She hunched her shoulders.

Claude apparently noticed her distress and collapsed on top of her (nearly sending them both off the log). “No nightmares allowed. I’ll wake you up if they try anything funny.” 

“Th-thank you Claude… He’s… um. A very good… sleep aid…?” 

“Snuggles ‘re better than chamomile… Dima says I’m the perfect snuggle-size. I’ve got… lottsa experience.” Claude yawned again. “Hilda, sleep with us…! I don’t have Vish tonight, ‘nd I’m not feeling so good. Can’t guard myself. Or Mari.” Just like that, Claude was tense again, his eyes darting around the clearing. His voice went quiet. “They’re in the woods, Hilda. I see their eyes. It’s all dying, the leaves are falling.”

“You’re hallucinating again. No one’s in the woods. There aren’t even any woods around at all. There’s not a single tree in sight.”

“You didn’t even look!” he shouted, then froze like a deer. “Oh no. Too loud. They know I’m here. They’ll come for me.” His eyes darted along the ground. “Vish? Where’s Vish? Has anyone seen her? I need her to keep me safe. Vishkanya? Vish where are you?”

Marianne petted his hair. He arched into her touch, but his eyes continued to frantically search the ground. “She’s in your room. It’s okay Claude, we’ll keep you safe.”

“No… need Vish. Or Dimitri, or Ama… They’ll get me this time, Mari, they’ll really kill me for good. I don’t wanna drown.” Now he was frantically looking up in the sky. “Ama?! Where’s Ama?!” From there he devolved into piercing whistles. She resisted the urge to slap her hand over his mouth, knowing that would scare him again.

Goddess  _ bless _ Marianne, who whispered something into Claude’s ear that made him stop. Was he really unable to sleep without an animal (or Dimitri) to protect him? What  _ should _ be a cute and funny quirk was beginning to worry her.

“Okay! I’ll sleep with you!” The way he beamed at her was worth it. At least there was  _ some _ benefit to his sudden mood-swings. Just like that, he wasn’t scared anymore.

Wrangling Claude over to a bedroll proved difficult. His legs were too unsteady for him to walk unassisted. Unfortunately, his version of reality told him his legs were replaced with a snake tail. Which prompted him to try and squirm away from her to ‘slither through the little forest’ to look for ‘snake friends’. He also stopped talking and communicated only through hisses. 

“Swear to Goddess, if I wake up tonight covered in snakes, I’m going to” —  _ kill you. _ She caught herself. Claude knew she was joking when she said stuff like that… right? “If I wake up covered in snakes, I’m going to be  _ so _ cross with you.”  _ Ugh, _ that made her sound like an old lady. 

“Hisssss…”

“It’s bed-time, Snaude. Time to stop being a snake. Human time now.”

“Aww… Can I be a wyvern next?” He went from crawling on the ground to throwing himself into her arms. He  _ so _ owed her when this was over. She carried him over to the bedroll and — didn’t drop him like she planned to. She  _ gently _ placed him on the bedroll. Because she was a good friend. He crawled into his sleeping bag and immediately bit her ankle. “Hisss…” He wiggled his ‘tail’ for added effect.

“You’re going to think you’re a snake as long as you’re in the sleeping bag, aren’t you.” 

“Um, please don’t bite people Claude.” Marianne coaxed him out of the sleeping bag. “It’s not nice.”

“It was a dry-bite. No venom. I wouldn’t poison Hilda. Besties don’t poison besties.” He paused. “Right?”

“That is absolutely correct. Do  _ not _ poison me Claude.”

“M’kay.” 

They ended up pulling together a handful of bedrolls to use as a ‘nest’, because Claude kept nipping people (mostly her, never Marianne) when he was in the sleeping bag. At least Claude was in a good mood, elated to have more snuggle buddies.

Claude wrapped Marianne in a hug, snuggling down with her like it was habit. Marianne didn’t hesitate to return his embrace and wasn’t uncomfortable  _ at all _ as Claude happily wiggled in her arms. 

“How often do you guys do this?” She did her best to keep the bite of jealousy out of her voice. She couldn’t  _ believe _ they went behind her back and  _ snuggled _ apparently.  _ Since when?! _

“E-every once in a while…?”

“Couple times a week,” Claude replied, oblivious. “Lots more when I wasn’t sleeping with Dima.”

Marianne’s cheeks were steadily flushing redder. “I, um, it’s just, y-you know how he is? H-he’s, very, um, a-a-affectionate?” The ‘very affectionate’ man was  _ literally _ nuzzling her. 

“Is he like this off mushrooms too?”

“M-more or less. I-it’s like you said, he, um, d-does the same with animals…”

“Hiiiilda, are you coming or not?” Then, oddly, he hiccupped.

“Uh, right. Guess so.” Reluctantly, she laid down too. She didn’t know why exactly she didn’t want to sleep beside Claude, she just… didn’t. So she used Marianne as a buffer, sandwiching her between them. “This okay?”

“Yeah,” Claude replied, snaking a hand past Marianne to clutch at her hip. “Hi.”

Rolling her eyes, she had to admit he was endearing like this. “Hi Claude. Gonna stop wiggling anytime soon?”

“He, um, does that. A lot. I-in his sleep too.”

“Mmm-hm. I—” he cut himself off with another hiccup. Then another. He tightened his grip, his wiggles stilling. “I — hic — uh, don’t feel so — hic — good.”

“Are you gonna throw up?”

He shook his head, still hiccupping. Marianne reached up and ran a hand through his hair. He butted into her hand, almost needy, as his expression scrunched together. “I feel — hic — weird.”

“Just let go, Claude, it’s okay,” Marianne whispered to him. “Y-you’ll feel better if you sleep it off. Try to fall asleep.”

“Hey bud,” Raphael whisper-shouted, “want another friend?” Claude bobbed his head, because of  _ course _ he said yes to more snuggles. Raphael settled down on Claude’s other side.

“Is this okay, Claude?” Marianne continued to whisper, her voice soothing. Again Claude nodded. “Do you feel safe like this?” He hesitated, but then slowly nodded. “I’m glad. I-is, um, petting your hair, d-does that help?” Less hesitation in his nod this time. “Good. T-try to relax. Let go.”

“We’ve gotcha,” Raphael added. “No one’ll hurt you with us around.”

“I — hic — don’t know — hic — how to let go. I’m gonna — hic — burst. Head — hic — hurts.”

“Just try. U-um, listen to my voice? O-or, um, focus on my hand.”

“I’ll — hic — try. I feel — hic — weird. I’m scared.”

“I-it’s okay Claude, you’re safe…”

She thought Claude would keep her up, but Marianne’s soothing voice was putting  _ her _ to sleep faster than Claude. 

“H-Hilda?” 

She blinked rapidly, confused. Marianne sat across from her, holding her hand. “Wow. You look super cute today Marianne!” And it was true. Her cheeks were just a little bit pink, her eyes light and happy for once, and she was even shyly smiling! Matching her pale blue hair was the most  _ adorable _ sundress. To her shock, Marianne was even wearing one of the accessories she gave her!  _ She really did like it! _

“Oh! Um, thanks. You look really cute too.” Marianne scooted a touch closer. “Um, I, I was wondering… i-if you want, can we cuddle? Just us?”

“Of course!” She immediately gathered Marianne in her arms, thanking the Goddess for a dream come true. 

“H-Hilda… will you go out with me? O-on, um, a date? Please?”

“Yes! Yes, of course!” She squeezed Marianne tightly, her stomach filling with happy butterflies. 

* * *

Claude woke to a pounding headache, dry mouth, drenched in sweat, with the beginning rays of dawn stabbing his eyes. Everything was so bright.

He buried his face under the warm body beside him. At least his animal pile was nice and cozy. He recognized Marianne, cuddled up to him in their typical ‘shared-embrace’ position. Something big was half sprawled on top of him, curling around his front to envelop him and somewhat Marianne. There was something else too. One of his arms was curled around Marianne. His other arm sprawled past her onto an animal.

Deer? Must be deer. The bodies felt roughly the size of deer.

His nose twitched. Whatever he was hiding his face under didn’t smell like deer (though something did). Whatever was on top of him wasn’t fuzzy. There was a thin blanket between himself and whatever he was against. The fabric was relatively soft, but it wasn’t what he expected.

He heard a human mumble as one of the bodies shifted. Followed by the unmistakable sound of Raphael’s snore right beside his ear. He popped his head up, blinking down at the pile surrounding him. He was right about them being deer; Golden Deer specifically. He eyed the mess of gathered bedrolls and blankets.  _ Huh. _ He was pretty sure this kind of thing wasn’t done in Fódlan.

He was hugging Marianne to his chest. Curled up at Marianne’s back was Hilda, who he also had an arm curled around. Behind him, Raphael engulfed his back, sprawling an arm across him and over Marianne and Hilda. Curled up and acting as a pillow for him, Marianne, and Hilda was a literal deer, who curled forward to in turn use Raphael as a pillow.

Lifting his head a bit further and looking around, he found the rest of the class. Lysithea was sprawled out like a star, her foot kicked over his leg. Her hair was everywhere, mouth wide open with a trail of drool leading to the hare clutched with one arm to her chest. 

Lorenz, Ignatz, and Leonie were all slumped together on the grass next to the log bench. Must’ve fallen asleep on watch. A grouse perched on Lorenz’s chest, an owl was tucked in Ignatz’s arms, and a badger sprawled on top of Leonie. That wasn’t including the squirrel tucked between Ignatz and Leonie or the fox sprawled over all three of them.

Teach and Flayn were on a nearby bedroll, apparently not part of the rest of the pile. Teach slept like a rock, but Flayn made up for it by snuggling against them, chewing on their cloak even in her sleep. A flock of crows were using them as a bed.

That, of course, wasn’t including the handful of deer sprawled around the campsite. Or the many miscellaneous birds and other critters.  _ Huh. Weird.  _ Whatever. He was tired. Everyone was so nice and snuggly… 

_ Where was he? _ The thought tugged at him, nearly breaking through his groggy haze. Why was everyone sleeping together? They were in some sort of field, somewhere. He felt… off. Indescribably off. Like his skin was bubbling out of his skin, but not unpleasantly. Something was gurgling out of his body, humming so thick he could taste it. It was chewy.

What was he thinking about again?

He rubbed his arms, expecting them to be slick with sweat (or some other substance). His hands were cracked, skin dry as a desert. He was  _ so _ thirsty. He must be dehydrated. Still the sensation of something gushing out of him continued, like a dam he didn’t know existed until it burst. He wanted the feeling to stop, but he didn’t know how. It was out of his control. If his skin wanted to walk away from him, he was helpless.

Last thing he remembered… 

He turned into a snake? That couldn’t be right. What a weird, vivid dream. Wouldn’t be the first time he had weirdly vivid dreams about being an animal. Snakes were a first though. Something about Dimitri being a cheese furnace…? Before that… he was back in the cave?  _ No. _ No, that was impossible, he escaped that place for good. No matter how many nightmares he had of waking back up in darkness, he  _ did _ escape. Besides, Marianne had been with him, so he couldn’t have been back in Almyra. She called him  _ Claude, _ not Khalid.

What did it matter. His head hurt, he could think about it later. Nap-time. It wasn’t everyday he got to snuggle up to Hilda, and Raphael had to be the third best snuggler ever (aside from his loud snoring). He was so drowsy… 

* * *

When he opened his eyes next, he immediately remembered the odd cuddle-circle. Apparently it hadn’t been a dream. Not that he minded. His headache was worse, and he was so much more thirsty, and his mouth felt like he’d eaten spoonfuls of sand. Also, he was hungry. Probably time to get up. The world flickered in and out of brightness, sputtering like a dying flame.

He couldn’t sit up with Raphael and Marianne holding him so snuggly. He had no idea how long he’d slept for, but he was  _ still _ drowsy.  _ Weirdly so. _ It wasn’t just the drowsiness. It was more than that now, a bone-deep fatigue. Like he’d run a marathon, but in his brain. There was a strange prickle against his skin, sliding around like soap suds quivering and ready to burst. Maybe he needed to vomit. But that would mean getting up, and he was  _ so _ cozy, and Hilda  _ never _ snuggled with him! He didn’t want it to end… 

_ Okay, he definitely needed to vomit. _

He squirmed his way out of Raphael’s arms, diving for an unoccupied spot of grass. In that moment, it occurred to him that there seemed to be more animals around than he remembered. Before he could think any further on it, he was retching. 

His whole body shivered, breaking out into goosebumps. Hot and cold all at once, he heaved, nothing coming out. The world flipped, gravity flipped, and his mind flailed as his body remained latched to the grassy ceiling of the planet. The soap suds on his skin buzzed in harmony, vibrating a forgotten and nostalgic tune, just on the tip of his tongue. If he wasn’t occupied gripping onto the grass for dear life, he would have patted down his skin just to confirm he  _ wasn’t _ blistering out into painless sores. 

With a deafening pop, everything burst. For a heartstopping moment, he thought  _ he _ burst into a floaty, airy dust cloud. But no, he just vomited up some bile as his ears popped. The world was the right direction again and the flickering stopped. He flopped onto the ground,  _ really _ thirsty now. Ugh, now his mouth tasted like… moss? Old leaves? Bark, his mouth definitely tasted like bark, with a hint of fruit in there. Yeesh, did he eat a tree while high on mushrooms?  _ Oh yeah. The mushrooms. _ At least his mouth didn’t taste like stomach bile. 

Shaking, feeling distinctly like a newborn, he just… laid there, staring at the night sky. Which was odd, because the clearing was well lit like daytime, but there was no campfire. He must not have slept as long as he thought he did if the mushrooms were still in his system. Some of the sensations they caused had been pleasurable — some downright  _ euphoric — _ but others not so much. He’d messed with plenty of poisons that altered his senses before, but nothing quite like those mushrooms. The  _ weirdness _ and accompanying drowsiness was finally gone. That vomiting fit must have been the last of it. Now he just felt hollowed out and drained, but not overly tired. His head was pounding though.

Driven by thirst, he finally pulled himself to his feet. He wobbled a bit at first but quickly rediscovered his footing. Carefully repositioning a snoozing bird off of his bag, he dug out his waterskin and drained it all in one go. Hilda’s pack, which was next to his, also contained a waterskin that he drank. She owed him, probably, it was fine. Two waterskins down and  _ still _ plagued with dry mouth, he reluctantly sacrificed Lorenz’s waterskin to his cause. He sipped and savored the third, eyeing the state of their campsite.

It was like the fox forest all over again but with all sorts of animals this time. A herd of deer (none white), multiple flocks of birds, and all manners of small critters littered the area. The ground was covered in fur and feathers. His friends too all had multiple bodies snuggled up to them. Lysithea’s single hare was now an entire family, plus birds and even a stray cat. The rest of the class was much the same, buried in animals. At least for once  _ he _ wasn’t the one bombarded with animal snuggles. Though he did find a couple of smallish snakes wrapped around his arms, still snoozing away.  _ D’aww.  _ If Vish wasn’t so territorial, he would take them home with him. Then again, if Vish wasn’t so territorial, he’d own hundreds of snake friends, which would be a massive pain to keep fed.

Stretching out, he allowed the sounds of breathing — animal and human alike — to wash over him. His neck popped, particularly stiff. It was odd that no one was on watch. It would be best to wake some of them up. They should get up and start the day already, as loathed as he was to wake everyone up. 

_ Hmm… _ everyone was still heavily asleep… Ignatz probably had some ink in his bag. He could doodle on everyone’s faces— 

No, he was already in hot water with Teach. Best to play it safe. Besides, nap-time was sacred. If he messed with them, that opened himself up to be messed with during his own naps. Course decided, he found Teach’s pack and retrieved their waterskin. They’d thank him if they were half as thirsty as he had been.

“Pst. Teach. Rise and shine.” Gently shaking their shoulder, he got no response. “Still sleeping off the mushrooms, I guess.” He’d wake them up last, then. Flayn didn’t wake either, but she was a known heavy sleeper.

“Falling asleep on watch? Tsk, tsk. Leonie, what would Jeralt think?” She didn’t so much as stir. He prodded her with his foot. “Leonie?” Leonie  _ usually _ rose with the sun. Shaking her, she didn’t stir at all. “Leonie? Lorenz, Ignatz?”  _ Same result. _   


_ Okay.  _ Something was wrong. Everyone was still alive and breathing. Just… asleep. The animals were all the same.  _ The stew? _ He didn’t eat much of the stew, but the others probably did. Was it poisoned? Some sort of sleeping agent? There was probably some random plant that caused that effect, right?

He sacrificed a bit more water, using Leonie’s waterskin to splash Lorenz’s face. The noble didn’t so much as  _ flinch. _ Okay. Neat. He tried waking up animals too, to no result. It couldn’t be the stew, because that didn’t explain the animals. Magic, maybe? But then why was he the only one awake?

Come to think of it, he  _ had _ been overwhelmingly drowsy until he vomited. Wasn’t there some folk story that Lorenz shared about excessive slumber? But that was just one person, woken up by ‘true love’s kiss’ or some nonsense. 

_ Fuck, _ he was  _ still _ thirsty. _ Sorry Leonie. _ He drank her water too. Hopefully there was a nearby stream or spring because he’d already drained half their water supply. Dry mouth was a symptom of some mushroom poisons, but this was ridiculous. He was  _ still _ thirsty!

He drained Ignatz and Raphael’s waterskins too. Raphael’s was double sized, and apparently the big guy brought  _ two, _ thank the Gods of Fortune for his heavy packing tendencies. By the time he finished those off, he was hiccupping and felt uncomfortably bloated. Maybe he was still asleep, dreaming about drinking water instead of  _ actually _ drinking water.  _ Actually,  _ that made a hell of a lot of sense. It was just a really weird post-mushroom dream. No longer feeling guilty, he drank the rest of the water. Lysithea’s, Flayn’s, Marianne’s, and yes, even Teach’s. Truly his dream-self held no fear.

_ There was something… odd.  _

He flopped against a tree — since when had there been a tree in the clearing? Wasn’t this where he vomited? — and groaned. Maybe he overdid it. But it was a dream, so what did it matter he drank more than he physically had room for in his stomach? Running the math through his head, he just drank way,  _ way _ more water than he had room for. At least he  _ finally _ wasn’t thirsty anymore. He hiccupped.

…he was a bit peckish, though. 

The plan had been to forage for breakfast. Teach liked making them suffer in the early hours of the morning. Technically, he could just pick an animal and cook it, but that felt wrong on so many levels. He didn’t want to bother starting a fire either. Also,  _ hello, _ his gut hurt, he didn’t want to move. Though eating felt a bit contradictory… 

Where was deer-mom when he needed her? The others might think the white hind was some sort of spooky entity, but she had the  _ best _ pears. He’d let her adopt him any day of the week, she was cool.

Head slamming forward, he flailed and flopped over. Scrambling back, eyes darting around for an attack, nothing leapt out. There was nothing but the tree he’d been sitting beside. Rubbing the top of his head, he definitely had a bruise. Glancing up, his eyes nearly fell out of his head.

It was a fruit tree. Apples, plums, apricots, peaches, pomegranates and figs. And yes, the same exact yellow pears he was used to. And  _ Almyran dates! _ All bursting with ripeness and color, branches laden with fruit after fruit enough to be weighed down heavily. All within convenient reaching distance if he stood up. Not that he needed to, because the object that hit him happened to be a pear.

“This is the weirdest dream,” he mumbled with his mouth full of pear.

He leisurely ate an ill-advised amount of fruit. It was a dream, wasn't like his stomach could burst (even though it was giving a good impression of trying). The fruit were all  _ heavenly _ though, he couldn’t stop himself (and also, he was  _ starving).  _ He couldn’t stop himself if he tried. By the time he figured,  _ yeah, that’s enough, can’t stand up, _ the tree had other plans. Fruit kept dropping into his lap, each just as big and bursting as the last. He kept mindlessly eating them, even past the point of  _ oh fuck, this really hurts now. _

“I’m good,” he hiccupped, another string of dates falling into his lap. Of course he ate them. “No more, I can’t eat any more.” A bursting peach bigger than his fist fell right into his open hands (and swiftly into his mouth). “I take it back, this is a nightmare.” A pomegranate struck his head, bursting open into four perfect portions to gnaw out the swollen seeds. He ate every last one with the same desperation of a starving man. “Stop,” he begged, yet still delighted at the taste of fruit after fruit after fruit. He wanted it to stop, but he  _ didn’t, _ because it was  _ so good. _

Dream time was always odd. He feasted for hours. The clearing grew brighter throughout the night, his head aching from the intensity of it. The more he ate, the more blinding the light seemed to grow. Tears and fruit juice dribbled down his chin. The dream refused to end, clipping by  _ so _ slowly. Dawn rose, the sky warming. By then, he had to squint against the brightness, nearly blind in the glow.

Water and fruit juice rippled under the surface of his skin. It all thrummed with the need to get out, but he kept  _ eating. _ Where it was all going inside of himself, he had no idea. He’d surely eaten his bodyweight in fruit and then some by now. It was like it was condensing itself inside of him, folding into every last crevice. With each bite the hum grew, the pressure rose. It was pounding at the gate within himself, a gate he didn’t know existed.  _ Let go, _ it begged him.  _ Let go, let it out. _ There wasn’t anything for him to let go of, he didn’t understand, it  _ hurt. _ He wanted it to stop. What he wanted didn’t matter. He wasn’t in control.

Mocking him, the tree was at least three times larger than before. It was still growing more fruit, each one bigger than the last. It dropped more and more on him, too fast for him to eat. His body tried anyways, each hand fighting to cram more down his throat. Somehow he devoured a plum and pear simultaneously, each one bigger than his head. More fruit fell into his lap as he failed to keep up, the pile growing even as he ate impossibly faster.

He was wrong about the mushrooms. He wasn’t free from them yet. They were the only possibility. His pores were bubbling out steam he couldn’t see but that  _ had _ to be what was happening. His stomach, his chest, his entire body was crammed to the brim. His skull wanted to crack open. He could see them, the eyes. Silver eyes, golden eyes, void-black eyes. He couldn’t control himself. His hands fed his mouth without his input. His mouth chewed and his throat swallowed and his stomach begged for an end and for  _ more, more, more. _ All without his input. He couldn’t move, laden down with the fruits of someone else’s labor. 

He was  _ never, ever _ touching another mushroom ever again.

He could feel it start. Like the bloated peach that ruptured in his hands, his skin was going to peel open. Something was pouring off of him,  _ out of him, _ in wave after wave. He had no control over anything, helpless to ride the endless tide. Not like a peach,  _ like an egg. _ His fleshy shell was cracking,  _ something _ was hatching. It wasn’t him.  _ He _ was just the shell, and it was killing him to escape. Something was trying to crawl out of him. And he was feeding it, more and more. He finally went blind as cracks of light seared across his skin. He gasped, feeling it hiss past his tongue. But then he sucked it in again, greedily drinking it down beyond his control. The floodgates were broken and it kept flowing.

Blind, helpless, he drank. He drowned. Even as he drowned, his throat sucked in more and more. The cracks grew further, and concentrated light was spewing out of him like an endless geyser of lava. It burned him, searing out his retinas, devouring him from the inside out. If it hadn’t already eaten his voicebox, he would be screaming. 

_ Just a mushroom trip! Just a dream! Just a nightmare! _

His skull split down the middle, brain oozing out like jelly. Light exploded beyond sight, so bright he could hear, taste, and  _ feel _ it. The world below him cracked at the thunderous outpour, the sky painted anew with newborn stars birthed from his death. His flesh was gone, his body nothing but a vessel, spewing forth— 

He vomited.

Blinking, he stared at the meager pulp of vomit. Hardly enough to fill his hands. Groaning, he spat an extra mouthful of stomach bile into the grass.

Checking his head, he found no rupture. He didn’t even have a headache, aside from a faint bruise. His skin was smooth. He wasn’t blind. He  _ did _ feel like shit, and he was drenched in sweat (for real this time), but otherwise he was fine.

“I’m never, ghu,” he wiped his lips on his sleeve, “ungh, never underestimating a mushroom ever again.”

It really was dawn now. He was (somewhat) sure he was awake and lucid. Hopefully. But looking out across the clearing (no longer unnaturally bright), everyone was still asleep. The animals were still in place.

He stumbled to his feet. He fell flat on his face. He groaned. Shakily standing, he wobbled over to the closest cluster of people. Lorenz, Leonie, and Ignatz.

He slapped Lorenz across the face, done with gentle methods.

“AH!”

He fell back at Lorenz’s push, unable to catch himself. He groaned on the ground. “Morning.”

“What? Claude? Did you  _ slap _ me?”

“Huh… Lorenz?” Leonie bobbed her head, eyes fluttering open. Ignatz stirred too.

“You weren’t waking up,” he replied, content with his place on the ground.

“You could have  _ shaken _ me! Goddess, why am I  _ wet? _ Did it rai—AH!” Lorenz flailed, not managing to dislodge a single critter. “Claude! Get these animals off of me!”

“Uh… whoa.” Leonie scrubbed her eyes, slowly patting a badger. “Am I still dreaming?”

“How the tables have been flipped.” Despite feeling like his insides had been scooped out, the satisfaction was nearly enough to revive him. 

Lorenz was loud enough that the rest of the camp began to stir, both human and animals alike. 

“Claude!” Hilda shouted at him. “Get them off of me!” She struggled to separate herself from a drowsy but affectionate goose. 

“No can do. You never help  _ me _ in this kind of situation. This is karma.”

Slowly everyone got up, some (but not all) of the animals dispersing. 

“What a weird morning…” Leonie murmured. “How do you feel, Claude?”

He shrugged, already mostly back to normal. “A bit mentally drained. I think it’s all out of my system. Gods, I fucking  _ hope _ it’s over.”

Ignatz cleared his throat. “Um, if you don’t mind me asking… how much do you remember?”

“Uh, depends. Everything, I think, but I’ve got no idea what was real and what wasn’t.” He scratched his head, hissing as he hit a knot. “It’s all jumbled.”

“Claude,” Lorenz began, breathing deeply through the nose,  _ “why _ is my waterskin empty?”

“Who, me? You really do assume the worst from me.”

“You can use mine.” Ignatz went to retrieve his and found it empty.

“Oops.” Three pairs of eyes fixed on him. “Sorry? I was thirsty. Guess I must have dumped them out in my delirium. Coulda sworn I drank them all…”

Digging through other packs, Leonie sighed. “You certainly drained them all. How long have you been up?”

“As far as my reality tells me, since… midnight, I think? I had a bit of a trip between then and now though. Er, obviously.”

“Midnight? Huh.” She frowned. “You know, I don’t remember falling asleep. One minute I was awake, then I was having the best dream.”

“How strange.” Lorenz butted back into the conversation. “I too had the most lovely of dreams. Why, I can practically still taste the delicious rosepetal blend on my tongue. I courted countless ladies, each fairer and more brilliant than the last.” He frowned. “Odd. I remember it with such clarity. It never seemed to end…”

“Same here,” Ignatz gasped. “I went traveling around the world. Feels like I was gone for months…”

As the rest of the Deer got up, they all shared the same story: vivid, long-lasting dreams. All but him and Teach, of course. Teach said they only dreamt about the ghost of an annoying child, typical dream weirdness.

“I think I know the cause,” he said, snapping his fingers. He leaned against the big fruit tree, grinning as he figured it out. “Some mushrooms have airborne spores. Everyone must have gotten at least a tiny dose, leading to deep sleep with vivid dreams.”

“I knew the mushrooms were a bad idea,” Hilda muttered. “Hey. Was that tree there yesterday?”

One by one the rest of the Deer gaped. “This is an empty plains,” Leonie slowly said. “There are some old fallen trees, but I don’t remember seeing  _ any _ trees, let alone one that tall.”

A current of dread spiked through his stomach. It wasn’t going to drop more fruit, right? He looked up, expecting to find a fruit falling straight at his face. Instead, he saw only a barren tree. He gaped. It was as tall as Garreg Mach’s cathedral, trunk too thick to wrap his arms around. It was dead though. Not a single leaf left, no evidence of any fruit.

“Maybe we just never noticed it…?” Marianne said.

They pushed the strangeness behind them. Claude, as much as he hated to say it, just wanted to move on. He blamed it on the mushrooms. He blamed everything on the mushrooms. They began their march back to the monastery early. Their camp-out was supposed to last four days, but Teach called it early (to Hilda’s delight).

“So what  _ do _ you remember?  Feels like that was months ago,” Hilda admitted. “Like, yeah, I remember it just fine. But it was ages ago!”

“It was literally last night. But I'm not about to complain.”  He tapped his chin. Hopefully he didn’t embarrass himself too much… or worse, he better not have spilled any secrets. Whatever weird dreams the others had, at least it put some distance between him and his actions. “I think I turned into a snake?”

Hilda snorted. “Yeah. You started hissing and biting people. But it was ‘okay’ because ‘besties don’t poison besties.’”

He cleared his throat. “My bad. Uhh… I remember… the sun exploding out of me? Or maybe it was a bunch of stars. Did I start screaming at all? Because  _ that _ trip was intense.”

“Nope. You  _ did _ try to cuddle with everything that moved though. Like the Sylvain of the snuggling world.”

“Er.” His cheeks warmed. “I guess I did do that, huh.” He frowned. “Did I stick my face in your boobs?”

“Yep.”

“Oh. Whoops.”

“And you went  _ on _ and  _ on _ about how great Dimitri is.” Hilda planted her hands on her hips. “I  _ totally _ disagree that he has better boobs than me by the way.”

“Please tell me I didn’t actually ramble about him.”  _ Gods. He remembered it. _ “Great. Everyone knows now.”

“You say that as if your infatuation is not common knowledge,”  _ Lorenz _ of all people said.  _ Lorenz! _

“Is it?” he squeaked.

“Yes,” multiple people said at the same time. Even  _ Teach _ chimed in a ‘yes.’

“Don’t worry, Dimitri’s in just as deep as you are,” Leonie informed him, winking.

“The snipers!” he gasped as  _ that _ memory assaulted him. He grabbed at his uninjured shoulder. “What happened to the people that attacked us?”

“Those were birds. There were no snipers.”

“No way. I got a crossbow bolt  _ through _ my shoulder. It hurt like hell!” But now that he thought about it, he’d been in the Almyran palace when he ‘got shot.’

_ The Almyran palace. _

“What did I tell everyone.” Shit.  _ Shit! _ Did he tell them his name? He faced Marianne, the only one he trusted to give a semi-accurate telling of the ordeal. “What did I say?”

He got it out in bits and pieces. His paranoid fit and lashing out (oops), his tirades on not trusting anyone  _ (oops), _ and his paranoid certainty that it was only a matter of time before everyone grew to hate him. 

“That was the mushrooms exaggerating my emotions,” he refuted. “That’s a ridiculous notion. I’ll admit I can be a touch cagey about who I trust, but I’m not  _ incapable _ of it,” he boldly lied. 

“I told you all,” Lysithea smugly declared. 

“That’s good,” Leonie said. She wrapped an arm around his shoulders abruptly. He tensed, barely stopping himself from going for a dagger. “I’m gonna say it anyways though: I don’t hate you, Claude, and I  _ won’t _ hate you. You’re a good friend to me. You know me, I’m blunt. If I’ve got a problem with someone, I say it. So rest easy knowing you’ve got me on your side!”

“What she said!” Raphael boomed, picking up both of them and twirling them in a hug. 

“That’s — very kind of you both to say,” he stumbled as Raphael set him back down. “Unnecessary, but I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“He  _ obviously _ knows none of us hate him,” Lysithea said as she rolled her eyes. “He might be an idiot, but he isn’t blind.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “I guess it’s nice to have some reassurance. But for real, that was the mushrooms talking.”

“Good. If you genuinely believed that  _ I, _ Lorenz Hellman Gloucester, would stoop so low as to kill you, you are far more daft than I ever realized. I will prove myself the rightful and correct choice as heir to the Alliance through  _ proper _ channels. My skill begets nothing less, and my honor as a nobleman would never afford me even the  _ notion _ of disposing of my rival in any other manner.”

“And I don’t want you dead either, dummy!” Hilda (softly) punched his shoulder. “No duh!”

“Of course not.” He played along as the embarrassed but mollified fool. He was lucky he didn’t spill more secrets. If they found out he was Khalid, all their reassurances would dry up in an instant. 

* * *

“Professor.” Seteth greeted them at the gate. “You are  _ late.” _

“Told’ya they’d be okay!” Cyril declared, arms crossed. “They’re real strong, that’s why Lady Rhea trusts them with so much important stuff! Ya gotta have some faith in your sister, Seteth.”

“You mean early, yes brother?” Flayn stepped up to soak the brunt of Seteth’s protective fury. “We have returned  _ early.” _

“You were supposed to return on the 28th. It is now the 29th. Were you attacked?”

There was a beat of silence. It  _ should _ be the 25th. “It’s really the 29th?” Lysithea asked Cyril.

“Yep. Did you guys lose track?”

“How long did we sleep for…?”

“Noooo!” Hilda whined, slapping her cheeks in horror. “We march for our monthly mission on the 30th! That’s tomorrow! It’s not fair! We were supposed to get a rest day…”

  
  
  


* * *

“I was worried about you,” Dimitri breathed into his shoulder, cradling him in their room. “I was so,  _ so _ afraid that something went wrong.” Noodle cheerfully chirped that she missed him too.

“Easy, I’m perfectly fine. It was just an extra day.” He smoothed his hand through Dimitri’s hair. It was greasy and unwashed. “You haven’t been taking care of yourself or sleeping. I gave you those tonics for a reason.”

“I was too worried to sleep.” Dimitri held him carefully, tightly, desperately. “I know you can take care of yourself. But endless scenarios played out in my head, and I couldn’t stop hea—thinking about it. About you.” 

_ ‘He’s in just as deep as you are.’ _ Those were Leonie’s words. With Dimitri clinging to him like a lifeline, maybe she had a point. Maybe she didn’t. Just because he and Dimitri were close like  _ this _ didn’t mean the prince wanted more. 

He intended to spend the night with Marianne. He wanted a full,  _ private _ account of  _ exactly _ what he said and did. But Dimitri needed him. It was nice to be needed. 

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” he murmured into Dimitri’s ear. “You’ve got a lot of sleep to catch up on before our mission. Nothing like some snuggles to keep the nightmares away.” Gods only knew he needed some himself after his own nightmare trip. Only admitting it to himself, he needed Dimitri to hold him too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude at the start of the chapter: They’re just mushrooms, they aren’t going to curse me or anything.  
> Claude at the end of the chapter: Never again :X  
> Claude, a week later, having learned nothing: Mushrooms! :D
> 
> Flayn: c: I will help cook and nothing will go wrong  
> Byleth: Something is going to go wrong  
> Sothis, eating popcorn: SHH! I want to see where this goes!
> 
> Claude: don't trust you, don't trust you, DEFIENTLY don't trust you Lorenz, Marianne you're cool, don't trust you, I'm OUT  
> *crawls into sleeping bag and starts hissing*
> 
> Over the next week:  
> Leonie: Hey Ignatz! I got that I got that thing you asked for!  
> Ignatz: What thing...?  
> Leonie:...dammit, you asked for it in my dream.
> 
> Hilda: Let's go on another picnic, Mari! :D Since we're *record scratch* uh... totally platonic... gal-pals. :(
> 
> Lorenz: Ladies! I am here to go on dates with all of you!  
> Ladies: :/  
> Lorenz: oh. I suppose our previous support ranks no longer exist.
> 
> Marianne for MVP. Flayn gets an A for effort
> 
> I always forget that Leonie has 'poisonous creatures' listed under her dislikes. Other than her support with Shamir where she talks about her revulsion about bugs, I don't think it ever comes up? rip Claude, he tried.
> 
> Just as a note, I've never taken mushrooms, so Claude's experience may not be accurate to taking mushrooms irl. However, my co-worked is VERY passionate about them (he grows culinary and psilocybin now that it's legal here), excited about them in the way that makes it fun to listen even though I know nothing on the subject. Whenever I have Claude-related mushroom questions, he always has an enthusiastic answer. This chapter is dedicated to mushroom-coworker-man. He'll never read this, but regardless. 🍄
> 
> And oc there was more than just mushrooms at play in this chapter ;)
> 
> Next Chapter: Conan tower


	30. Droopy noodle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this arc assuming Conan tower was in Gautier territory. Fool that I am, I decided to fact check this only AFTER I’d already written the arc. Turns out it’s on the border between Fraldarius and Galatea territory. Oops. It’s a really tiny detail that I doubt most people would notice (damn, outing myself again), so I’m just going to leave the error in instead of wasting time rewriting it when I could use that time to write new content instead. In this universe for no particular reason, Conan tower just so happens to be Gautier territory. 
> 
> This chapter got split into thirds (20k for one chapter is a lot @-@). Since the other two chapters are mostly written, I'll probably have the next one out within a few days

While he didn’t regret spending his night with Dimitri, he desperately needed a chance to meditate and straighten himself out. Time waited for no one. When dawn came Teach gathered up the class and no further time was wasted. On the bright side, he didn’t need to bother repacking everything. On the downside, he woke with a familiar queasiness and some frustrating dry mouth. He pushed past it.

He couldn’t help the way he eyed his classmates, falling to the end of the pack as they marched. _What did they know?_ It was eating away at him like a swarm of locust. His memories were all with him, they just couldn’t be trusted. He _needed_ time to process… everything. _Everything._ Being back in the cave, the attack by Almyran snipers, Hilda and Lorenz trying to kill him, the _fruit tree_ nonsense, all of it. Under his bluster, he felt raw to the core. As soon as he could meditate, _alone and safe,_ he’d be fine. _Dammit_ but he wanted to be alone and just let it all out. Gods and Goddesses, he’d never been in such dire need of straightening his head out. 

In the meantime he knew how to supplement his needs, on how to best stave off the paranoia dripping down his back. His usual trusted animal companion took a different shape this time.

“Dimitri, Gods above, what did I say?”

“Is this too much?” Dimitri stepped aside by a whole inch. “Apologies. I just don’t want you to be worn out by the time we get there.”

He hiked his pack further onto his shoulders. If he didn’t know any better, he would suspect Dimitri could tell he wasn’t feeling great. But this was _Dimitri._ It was just the way the prince operated. “Are you a prince or a pack mule?” He pointedly eyed Hilda’s pack on top of the prince’s own. “Remember my terms and conditions.”

Dimitri nodded, wilting like a dehydrated plant. “That I am not to be ‘overly fussy’ towards you. I hardly consider this fussing, but I will relent to your judgment. Inform me if you change your mind.”

He knocked his shoulder into Dimitri’s and grinned. “Hey, don’t look so glum. You got what you wanted.” How Dimitri convinced Teach to let him come was a mystery he was _dying_ to solve.

“I still don’t understand why your class is dealing with this,” Dimitri quietly confessed. “This is Faerghus’ mess to resolve. There is no need for us to…” his lips twisted like he bit into something sour, _“outsource_ help.”

Claude shrugged. Distracting himself with such an interesting mystery was _also_ a great coping method. “It _is_ pretty fishy. I bet it’s got to do with Teach. Rhea’s shown a weird favoritism to them. Hey, have you ever seen the Lance of Ruin in person? I bet Sylvain has.” He eyed the redhead, who was currently flirting with Hilda. Rookie mistake on his part. She was going to milk Sylvain for all he was worth.

“I haven’t. It’s very powerful, that much I know. The Gautier family has relied on its power to secure the border to Sreng for generations. Though I cannot say how much use it finds in practice, Margrave Gautier claims it is the single reason they are able to hold the border.”

“So below ‘mountain slicing’ power but higher than a butter knife. Got it.”

“Please take this seriously.”

“Hey, I’m taking this _very_ seriously, Your Princeliness. This is my serious face. It’s just interesting. As far as I knew, it’s impossible for someone without a crest to use a relic. Guess that isn’t the case. Church propaganda, maybe? Teach can use the Sword of the Creator and _that_ doesn’t even have a creststone! How do relics even work? It’s so unfair that there’s so little information available on them. But after this is all over, I’ll finally be able to get a close look at one. Heh, I bargained with Sylvain to let me examine it.”

“Claude. We are marching to kill Sylvain’s brother.”

His excited smile died. “Ah. Yes, that we are. I mean, Sylvain doesn’t seem to have any love for the guy.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to overstep.” He refused to admit it, but it was relatable. As much as his half-brothers tormented him growing up, Claude didn’t want any of them dead. 

“Blast. Apologies, I didn’t mean to ruin your mood. Your excitement over any topic brightens my day considerably. I merely find it difficult to find mirth in this situation. My people are suffering, yet here I am, toiling my days away as a schoolboy.”

He slung an arm across Dimitri’s shoulders, squeezing his arm. “You’re preparing for the day you take your throne. That’s not a waste of time” _‘And trying to get revenge’_ went unsaid.

Dimitri immediately reciprocated the gesture, gripping Claude’s own shoulder just a bit too tight. “There’s nothing for it right now. I just wish I could do more.” His eyes flickered. “Are you certain I can’t carry your pack?”

“You _really_ want to feel helpful, huh.”

His eyes fell away. “I suppose I do. Forgive me Claude, I can’t change my fears. I know you are strong, I don’t doubt your ability.” _‘But I still worry’_ rang loud and clear.

He rested his head on Dimitri’s shoulder. “If I give you my pack, then you’ll need something else to worry about. You’re like Noodle. If I give in to one thing, next thing I know you’ll be carrying _me.”_

“I can—”

“Ahem.”

Dimitri’s back stiffened. Claude, with a smirk, remained in lockstep with Dimitri. “Sir Gilbert. Something we can help you with?”

“Your Highness. Lord Riegan.” He cleared his throat again.

Claude started talking before the old man could finish whatever he planned to say. “Say, have _you_ witnessed the Lance of Ruin? Trying to get a grasp on what we’ll be up against.”

“A long time ago, yes. It was an impressive, eerie weapon. Not something to underestimate.” For the third time he cleared his throat. “Lord Riegan. Your proximity to His Highness is inappropriate.”

“Is it? Oh, my bad!” He pressed further into Dimitri’s space, nearly tripping himself. “There we go, closer now. Is this better ‘proximity’?”

“Claude,” Dimitri attempted to scold, a laugh barely withheld. 

“I request you release His Highness at once. I will call over your professor if I must.”

“Oh _noooo,_ don’t tattle to my _professor!”_ Claude threw an arm across his forehead, pretending to faint.

“Claude!” Dimitri caught him, of course. “Give me warning next time!” 

“Alas, the fear of Teach catching us in, _gasp,_ such a _scandalous_ position overwhelmed me!”

“You would do well to practice proper behavior, Lord Riegan. Your actions reflect upon yourself and your country.”

“Gus—Gilbert. You are out of line. Claude’s antics are harmless.”

He looked between the two. “Hold up, do you two know each other? Dimitri, were you about to call him by another name? Gasp, is ‘Gilbert’ a fake name? This is some juicy stuff! Here I thought you being Annette’s mystery father was the real icing, but I was wrong.” 

“Apologies, Gilbert,” Dimitri meekly muttered.

“Such imagination the youth has these days. Your Highness, surely there are better influences to spend your time around.”

“Your _advice_ on the matter is unwelcome,” Dimitri calmly thundered. Despite being a member of the church, Gilbert obeyed Dimitri. Nodding stiffly, the old man retreated.

“You can put me down now, Your Princeliness.”

“Mm. I shall take it into consideration. It wouldn’t do for you to faint,” Dimitri said without the slightest hint of humor.

“Hey! Come on, it was only a joke!”

At that moment, Hilda glanced at them. She brought a hand up to her lips to hide a laugh that was _clearly_ visible. “Lorenz, Leonie, Lysithea, pay up!”

Leonie threw up her hands. “Claude, I had faith in you!” She chucked a small pouch at Hilda.

“You guys made a bet?”

Lysithea glared daggers at him. “I may have lost this one, but I’ll win it back.”

“Heh, nicely done, Your Highness.” Sylvain gave Dimitri a thumbs-up, pocketing his own bag of gold. “You’ve made me proud! And richer.”

“What was the bet about?” Dimitri asked, his cheeks turning pink.

“Whether or not you would carry Claude,” Teach said, pocketing their own cut.

“Professor!” Gilbert shouted. “Betting and gambling is strictly against church policy. For your students it is bad enough, but to participate yourself? For shame!”

They shrugged. “Take it up with Rhea.” 

Gilbert’s expression soured. “She is _Lady_ Rhea,” he quietly muttered.

“Okay for real, put me down now. Dimitri. Stop smiling.”

Dimitri looked down at him. There was something about his eyes, or maybe it was his cute little smile. His amusement. The teasing little glint that he rarely showed. Or the absolute focus on _Claude._ Whatever it was, it was making his cheeks burn. 

He sighed dramatically. “Oh very well, if I must be carried I shall accept my sentence. Woe upon me, to be carried to my destination!” He much preferred riding on Dimitri’s back than his current ‘damsel’ hold, but whatever.

“Boo-hoo, woe unto you,” Hilda muttered. “We all know how you _really_ feel about that.”

“Do you now? Go on, elaborate.” He crossed his arms, _daring_ her to bring up his mushroom escapades. He vaguely remembered raving about Dimitri while high, so he must have mentioned that he liked being held. _Ugh._ So far everyone was avoiding mentions of it like the plague and that suited him just fine. On the very dim bright side, at least he could be as blatant about his cuddling around Dimitri as he wanted now.

“This is totally unfair. Lorenz, please carry me! I’m _so_ winded. A delicate lady like me isn’t meant to _march._ But you’re so strong Lorenz, won’t you carry me?”

“Lorenz,” Teach said, “I forbid it.”

“Professor! Do you doubt the strength of a Gloucester?”

“Yeah professor, the strength of a Gloucester! Are you doubting Lorenz?”

Teach looked Lorenz straight in the eyes. “Yes.”

_“Why how da—!”_

“Uh, professor!” Raphael called from the front of the line. “I think we gotta go back.” He held up his backpack. “My training weights are gone!”

“Why would you bring _training weights_ on a march?” Hilda grumbled. “We can’t _go back_ for training weights! We’re over halfway there! How did you not notice they were gone?”

“Flayn weighs about the same.” Out of Raphael’s pack peeked a pale green eye. 

Everyone stopped marching. Every member of the Golden Deer shivered as the eye of death passed overhead.

“Oh dear,” Ignatz whispered for all of them. “Goddess protect us.”

Teach pinched their brow. “Flayn. Your brother ‘requested’ you stay behind.” Seteth had been _especially_ protective over her since their ‘late’ return.

“I know that!” Flayn snapped, popping her head entirely out of the bag. “Just as my brother ‘requests’ I stay away from boys, or ‘requests’ I never visit the marketplace, or ‘requests’ I remain locked in a tiny room all my life! He has not allowed me to join a single combat mission with the Golden Deer! Not a single one!”

“And _this_ is the mission you chose to rebel on?!” Cyril looked alarmingly chalky. Relatable.

“Indeed!” Flayn raised her chin, oddly proud of herself for someone sentencing her entire class to the execution block. “And when I return to the monastery safe and hale, my brother will have no choice but to see I am a capable young woman!”

“It’s too late to turn around, isn’t it.”

“Seteth is going to disembowel me when we return,” Teach intoned, staring at the class as if to say _‘and I’m taking you all down with me.’_

“We’re fucked,” Hilda whispered.

“Surely Seteth will understand,” Dimitri naively said.

“Why do you all look so worried?” Sylvain laughed. “At most, your professor’s the only one who will get in trouble. And maybe Flayn.”

“When the professor is in trouble, everyone is in trouble,” they all said in unison.

“Holy shit that was creepy. Never do that again.”

“I’ve got it!” Claude said, snapping his fingers. “We can have Sir Gilbert escort her back! No harm done!”

“Claude, you do not wish for my help?” Flayn aimed her watery eyes at him. 

“No, no, that’s not what I meant at all! We’d be happy to have you Flayn. But your poor brother must be worried sick.”

Flayn slumped forward, limply hanging her arms and head out of the bag. “I see my presence is not welcome. My apologies for the inconvenience.”

He chomped down on his lip. Flayn _wasn’t_ a cute baby animal, _he_ wasn’t weak to big sad eyes, and he _wasn’t_ going to give in because he _wasn’t_ a sap! So what if she looked ready to burst into tears.

“It really is too late to turn back, I guess…”

“Claude!” Leonie hissed. “Don’t drag us down with you just because you’re a sap!”

“I’m not a sap.”

“Claude is correct,” Teach said, “about it being too late to turn around. Welcome to the team, Flayn. Never do this again.”

“Understood, professor!” Flayn perked up in an instant, saluting. “You will find me the perfect student! Worry not everyone, I am certain my brother will not be upset. I left him a note on my bed, explaining I am safe!”

* * *

“Perhaps this was a mistake,” Edelgard murmured. “Will you please come out? I have a treat for you…”

Moon remained a white splotch tucked as far under her bed as possible. Just like all the other times Claude left the monastery. She rivaled Bernadetta in her anti-social tendencies but only when Claude wasn’t in the monastery. Because _somehow_ his kittens always knew when he was gone.

Star mewled up at her from where she was bundled up in her arms. “What can he provide that I do not?” Star didn’t reply. The kitten roughly headbutted her, begging for more pets. Star dealt with her owner’s absence by becoming clingy and needy. “Don’t you worry. I won’t abandon you like him.”

The sound of tearing cloth alerted her to Sun’s coping methods. She rushed over to the mischievous kitten, pulling her away from the curtains. She received claws in her arm for her trouble. Sun leapt away from her and planted herself back at the window immediately. She yowled for good measure. The kittens had an odd habit of taking shifts watching out the window. They made efficient alarms when it came to intruders; but only if the intruder was Claude.

Sighing, she inelegantly flopped onto her bed. When she originally negotiated for their full custody during Claude’s absence, she hadn’t realized they were like _this._ Like many things involving the trickster, he squeezed every ounce of opportunity out of her. She couldn’t imagine how poorly Dimitri must have fared taking care of the kittens. When Claude left to attend some Alliance political meeting at the start of the month, he left abruptly. She had assumed the kittens were upset because he didn’t say goodbye to them (and that wasn’t even touching on how desperately upset they were when Claude returned to them injured). The real test was a week ago when his class left on that camping trip of theirs. The kittens were _still_ endlessly upset despite the lengthy, drawn out goodbye Claude gave them.

She’d broken down and went to Dimitri for help during that week. His paltry advice hadn’t been worth the blow to her pride. The oaf didn’t offer anything beyond _‘they will cheer up when Claude returns’._ Obviously. Dimitri was lucky she held her tongue. The kittens weren’t the only ones depressed with Claude’s absence. She wasn’t referring to the baby wyvern. 

She wanted the kittens to be comfortable around _her._ She didn’t know what she was doing wrong. If she couldn’t win three kittens to her side, what did that say about her chances turning her people to her cause in the future?

Perhaps Hubert was right that Claude was playing mind games with her. First he got her attached to his exclusive supply of kittens. Then he turned around and extorted her for all she was worth. She had no choice but to accept his ridiculous demands. The nights she spent with the kittens were far more restful and it was an indescribable asset to have soft, warm, furry bodies to soak away her tears. No matter where their loyalties lay, they couldn’t expose her secrets to Claude.

But when Claude was gone, her productivity dropped to zero. How could she do work with three heartbreakers in her room? She could go to the library, but the thought of leaving her lonely kittens to cry alone was too much. She had _things_ to get done, both school studies and _otherwise._ She just couldn’t concentrate though.

“Hey Edelgard!” Caspar shouted, slamming his fists on her door. “Are you in? Ashe said he was looking for you!”

 _In through the nose, out through the mouth._ She carefully pried Star’s claws out of her side. “Watch your volume Caspar.”

“My volume? What about it?” Caspar continued to shout, further spooking Star.

“Shh, it’s okay, all is well,” she whispered, calmly stroking her. Tucking Star into her arms, she stood up and cracked open the door. Caspar had other ideas, flinging her door open at the tiniest crack.

“Whoa! You have a cat! You never told me!” Star flinched at his shout. “Can I see it? Please? Please please please!”

“Be quiet!” she snapped. “Your volume is scaring her!”

“Oh no! I’m so sorry kitty-cat!” he whisper-shouted. Caspar reached out to pet her, but Edelgard stepped away from him. 

“What’s this nonsense about Ashe looking for me? He is a Blue Lion student, yes?”

“Yeah! Oh no, I mean, yeah.” Caspar rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry kitty. I promise I’m not scary.” Star begged to differ.

“Caspar, there you are!” The grey-haired student raced up to Caspar, eyes going wide. “Ah-hah, hello Your Highness. Hello Star.” Ashe reached out and let Star sniff his hand. Then, Star allowed him to pet her head. “I was wondering how the kittens were doing. I see they are in your capable hands!”

“Star likes you,” Edelgard slowly stated. “And you know her name. Just how are you acquainted with Claude’s kittens?”

“Yeah, you didn’t tell me about the kittens!” Caspar shouted. She and Ashe both shushed him. “Sorry!”

_“Mew.”_

She nearly dropped Star in shock. Moon crept out from under the bed, cautiously stalking towards the door. Moon _never_ crawled out from the bed unless it was nighttime or foodtime. Ashe squatted and held out his hand. Moon remained just barely out of reach but Ashe patiently waited.

“Two kittens!” Caspar whispered, vibrating in place.

“Have you been hiding again?” Ashe quietly cooed to Moon, coaxing the cat closer inch by inch. “Poor thing.” Moon nosed closer until she was nosing at Ashe’s stomach, pawing at his chest. Ashe carefully picked her up and snuggly settled her in his hood. 

“How did you do that? I couldn’t even get her to come out for treats.” She snatched the Blue Lion by his shirt. “You will teach me your technique.”

“Hah!” Caspar was, once again, shushed. “Ashe here is amazing with cats! Don’t get me wrong, I’m obviously great with cats too.”

“Is that so,” she stated, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah! Um, full grown cats that like fighting, at least.”

Ashe rubbed the back of his neck, only to have his hand attacked by a white paw. “I don’t do anything special. I just—”

Sun made her appearance by bolting out the room and out the hall.

She felt the blood drain from her face. If Sun got hurt or lost, she would never forgive herself. _Claude_ would never forgive her. And if Sun got hurt, she would lose her kitten rights!

“After her! Don’t let her get away!”

* * *

“She isn’t sick, is she?” Annette slowly petted down the little wyvern’s back to no reaction. “I know she’s always upset when Claude isn’t around, but she looks even more droopy than usual. A true droopy noodle!”

Said droopy Noodle whimpered, curled up on Dedue’s lap.

“Poor thing.” Mercedes scratched under Noodle’s chin. The wyvern pouted up at her with big, begging eyes. “It’s okay, Dimitri and Claude will be back in a few days.”

“It’s a wyvern, not a baby,” Felix snapped. “Stop coddling it already.” Noodle turned her eyes on Felix and whined. Not even Felix could withstand her eyes, looking away.

“Maybe she’s hungry?” Ingrid suggested. 

“Hungry for parental love!” Annette cried. “Poor thing! I feel so bad for her!”

“You say that when the boar’s toy is gone too.” Felix crossed his arms and kicked his feet on his desk, still not making eye contact with Noodle. “Crying on the scaly beast won’t make it feel any better.”

“But this is _worse_ than when Claude isn’t around! I didn’t know wyverns could look so sad!” Annette sniffled, scrubbing at her eyes. “She misses His Highness so bad.”

_“Stop.”_

“It’s okay Annie! That just means we need to cheer her up, right everyone?”

There was a beat of silence. Ingrid cleared her throat. “How do we cheer up a wyvern? I’ll admit I don’t know much about them. I stick to pegasi.”

“Annette could sing her a song.” Another beat of silence as everyone turned to Felix. His cheeks darkened. _“What?!_ Got any better ideas, huh?!”

“Perhaps she would be happier with other wyverns?” Mercedes suggested.

Dedue shook his head. “His Highness stated that would be a poor idea. Something about the others acting territorial towards her.”

“Oh, yikes. We need someone knowledgeable on wyverns.”

“Like Claude!” Annette perked up, then immediately deflated. “Oh right, he’s gone.”

“How about Cyril?” Mercedes suggested. “He spends a lot of time taking care of wyverns, he must know plenty!”

Dedue shook his head. “He is with the Golden Deer.”

Mercedes tapped her chin. “Do we know anyone else who rides wyverns? Oh, I know! Seteth knows a great deal about them!” 

Silence. “Let’s keep that as a last resort,” Ingrid said.

“Maybe Ashe knows someone? Look, there he is! Ashe, hey!” Annette called to him.

“Has anyone seen an orange Riegan tabby kitten?” Ashe burst into the room, panting as he caught his breath. “We can’t find her.”

“Is that a kitten in your hood?”

“Yes, but I’m not looking for that kitten!” Said white kitten meowed, then leapt out of Ashe’s hood. “Moon, no! Come back!” The kitten didn’t go far. She snuggled up to Noodle. Ashe wheezed a sigh of relief. “Oh Goddess, I thought we were going to be on the hook for _two_ lost kittens there! Dedue, please make sure she doesn’t run away!”

“Perhaps I am not the best suited—”

“You’re the best, thanks!” Ashe raced out of the room.

“—for this.” Dedue’s stony face cracked. “I am not good with animals,” he admitted. His hands hovered above the two animals, awkward and unsure where to be placed.

“Nonsense, you’re doing great!” Mercedes said, petting the kitten. “And look at Noodle, she looks less droopy! All she needed was a friend to share her misery with.” Felix of all people huffed an almost-laugh. 

The door squeaked open by an inch. The strangest of Claude’s pets proudly entered the room like he owned the place. Reynard the fox joined Dedue’s lap without preamble. Noodle burbled sadly into the fox’s fur. Dedue didn’t say anything, but his eyes were screaming _‘help!’_

“Has anyone seen Flayn?” Seteth burst into the room, panting as he caught his breath. “I can’t find her anywhere!” The usually put-together man frantically looked around the room. “Inform me if you find anything about her whereabouts!” With that, he raced out of the room.

“Maybe she’s hiding with Ashe’s missing kitten…?”

* * *

“Are we there yet?” Hilda whined. “I wanna sleep in a real bed. I hate this.”

“The village should be close by,” Sylvain piped up. “We’re in Gautier territory, I know this place like the back of my hands. It’s a small village but it’s got some very nice ladies. Only a few hours away from Conan tower. _Great_ beds, wink wink. Doubt the inn will have enough for everyone though. We’ll have to double up and share.” He spread his hands wide, smirking. “I happen to be an _excellent_ bedmate, ladies.”

“Sylvain, you will share a room with Lorenz.”

“Professor!” two voices shouted at once.

Hilda skipped over to Marianne. “We can totally share a room! It’ll be so much fun, don’t you think?”

“O-oh… a-are you sure you want to share one with me…? I’m no fun to be around…”

“That’s not true at all,” Claude replied before Hilda could. “Anyone would be delighted to share a room with you Mari!” Dimitri’s grip around his waist tightened. “Hilda’s just the lucky goose that called dibs. I _suppose_ I’ll have to settle for sharing a bed with my fellow house leader.” He gave an exaggerated wink to Dimitri.

“Ooo, my poor legs,” Hilda whined. “I’m _so_ tired. I just wanna be done with this. Do we _have_ to march _again_ tomorrow? I just want a nice hot bath.”

“Not to sound like Hilda, but a hot bath sounds sublime right now. Nothing like a nice warm—achoo!” 

“Claude! Are you okay?” Dimitri gripped his shoulder, looking him over like he might find a wound.

He raised an eyebrow, wiping his nose. “Just a sneeze. Of course I’m okay.” His morning queasiness petered out hours ago. Other than a mild headache, he was just cold.

“And you’re shivering too!” Dimitri pulled off his cloak and snapped it around his shoulders. “You should have said something.”

“Let me guess: you aren’t cold at all.”

“Well. No.”

Leonie snickered. “Seriously Claude? This is chilly at _worst._ You’re going to die when winter hits.”

“Cut me some slack. I’m a child of sunshine! I wasn’t born for this kind of weather! I’ll have you all know I can outlast any of you in the sauna.” He hunkered into the cloak, savoring Dimitri’s lingering warmth. It was much thicker than his own cloak and far higher quality. A true Faerghus noble’s cloak, lined with soft fur and everything. The inside was even a royal-blue with little Blaiddyd symbols on the fabric. He bunched the cloak together around his chin and tucked half his face underneath. No way in _hell_ was Dimitri getting it back. His cloak now.

“Worry not Claude, I too find this temperature to be quite blustery!” Flayn said. Her nose was a little red, but otherwise she seemed fine. 

“Your Highness, if I may—” Gilbert hissed in Dimitri’s ear.

“You may not.” _Ah,_ the perks of authority. Gilbert actually held his tongue over whatever ‘propriety’ nonsense he planned to ‘share’ with the prince. 

“Y’know it’s summer, right Claude? This is the warmest it gets up here.” Sylvain sauntered up beside him, elbowing his ribs. “In the dead of winter it gets cold enough that you can throw water in the air and by the time it hits the ground it’ll be ice.”

“That’s nothing to be bragging about,” Lysithea snapped. She was his only other shiver companion, bundled in Leonie’s jacket.

“Stop,” Teach commanded. “Everyone be on your guard.”

The village was before them. What _remained_ of the village, at least.

“We must look for survivors!” Dimitri was already running, heedless to any danger.

“Stop,” Teach again commanded, grabbing his arm as he passed them. “Look closer.”

“Let go of me!” Dimitri yanked his arm free. “Every second wasted may mean another death!”

“Dimitri. This happened over a week ago. Maybe longer.”

“This village is directly between Conan tower and the capitol,” Sylvain gravely stated. “They were probably Miklan’s first victims with the Lance of Ruin.”

“Then I will dig out their bodies and give them proper burial.” Without a word more the prince trudged off to the first destroyed house. Gilbert and Sylvain both followed. Claude looked away, up into the empty sky. Storm clouds were gathering.

“Professor, should we help?” Ignatz asked.

“I mean… not to be callous or anything, but the dead are already dead,” Hilda argued. “We’re gonna wear ourselves out if we dig through all these houses. We’re going up against the guy that destroyed this place tomorrow. If we don’t want to end up like them, we need to be at our best.”

“I won’t stop anyone from aiding Dimitri,” Teach said. “However, I believe our energy is better spent putting together a shelter to wait out the night.”

“Better that than grave digging,” Hilda muttered.

“It is the duty of a noble to take care of the common folk,” Lorenz said. “I propose we rest tonight, defeat the wretched mockery of nobility that caused this destruction, and return to bury the dead after.”

“It just doesn’t feel right to let the bodies rot any longer than necessary,” Ignatz said. “I don’t think I’ll sleep tonight if I don’t help.”

“My muscles will be a big help, so I’ll help Dimitri out. It’s what friends do.”

“If this was my village, I’d be getting bodies out no matter what. If there’s even the slightest chance someone survived, I’ve got to help.”

“I cannot help to unbury any bodies, but I know many rites,” Flayn added.

“I… I’d like to say some prayers, at least. I won’t be any help with the wreckage, though, I’d just get in the way…”

“I hate to say it, but I’m with Marianne. I am under no illusion that I’ll be useful.” Lysithea’s teeth chattered as she spoke.

“I will set up a fire for Lysithea,” Lorenz stated.

“And for Claude too, he’s _also_ shivering. I’m not a child,” she muttered back.

“Are we going to build a pyre?” Cyril asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “I had to help make one of those once. But I’ll be lots more useful helping the shelter.”

“In Fódlan, we bury our bodies,” Lorenz told him. “Pyres are only used after big battles when there is not the time nor manpower to bury the dead.”

“Oh! Almyra’s the same way. I mean, they don’t bury anyone. They offer bodies to wyverns and vultures and stuff. But after a big battle, ya gotta burn the bodies or else giant birds’ll gather.”

Lorenz’s lips twisted. “That is… unique. Very… quaint.”

Cyril shrugged. “Just practical. Full wyverns won’t eat living people, but hungry ones do.”

“Claude?” Teach asked. 

He shook his head. “We’re all working on the assumption there are bodies to be found.” He pointed up to the sky. “Look. What do you see?”

“Claude, this isn’t time for one of your pranks!” Lysithea snapped. “Read the mood!”

“No prank. There’s nothing there, right? No birds… _no vultures.”_ He gestured out to the wreckage. “Where are the wolves? The bears? Where are the scavengers? I don’t smell any rot either.”

“Careful or you’ll speak them into existence,” Hilda muttered.

“What do you propose, then?” Lorenz threw his arms wide as if to show off the wreckage. “That no one died in this attack? Please. How naively far fetched.”

“‘Far fetched’ is automatically assuming every man, woman, and child died. Look at that.” He pointed to one of the red symbols painted on the rubble. It was a bastardization of the Gautier crest with skulls. “That’s bright red, so it’s not blood. It’s paint. Miklan sent a message with this place. ‘Mess with me, and this will be you’, that kind of thing. What better way to send a message…” he paused to let it sink in “…than to have the survivors spread your terror for you.” Understanding dawned across his classmate’s faces. “There’s probably a little graveyard somewhere around here. I doubt everyone survived a raid of this magnitude.”

Ignatz nodded. “That makes sense. The survivors would have buried their own dead.”

Teach patted him on the shoulder. “Good observation Claude. We will set up camp, then. “Everyone stay in pairs.” Teach began divvying camp duties.

_“Yes professor!”_

“Teach, you forgot me.”

“What are you still doing here?” They tilted their head towards the village. “Someone needs to tell the Blue Lions that they’re wasting their time.”

“You know me so well, Teach.” He’d planned to delegate his duties and do that anyways. “So you’re my buddy. Let’s get to it.”

“No. I will fish our dinner. Dimitri is your buddy.”

“Ah—”

 _And they were gone. Great._ Dimitri was going to fuss over him all night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert: Lady Rhea, the professor is a bad influence!  
> Byleth, smoking in the cathedral: His word against mine. I'm a good influence.  
> Rhea: Gilbert, I'm disappointed in you. Have more faith in the professor.
> 
> Dedue, slowly being covered in animals: help. someone. help.  
> Claude, astral projecting: _~now you know how I feel~_
> 
> Seteth: Flayn's gone! Dear Goddess, no, no, no! Where is she?!  
> Jeritza: *raises hand* I also would like to know where she is.  
> Tomas: ??? This is not part of the plan
> 
> Edelgard, dragging Ashe: Professor Manuela, Ashe is transferring to our class now!  
> Ashe: N-no I'm not?? Please let me go!  
> Edelgard: Not until you spill your secrets, you dirty thief!  
> Ashe: I didn't steal anything, I swear it!  
> Edelgard: Wrong. You stole the attention of *my* kitten!
> 
> There was only one bed...? PSYCH! No beds for anyone!  
> (There was only one bedroll...?)
> 
> Next chapter: Boarish behavior, a lesson about not taking fussing for granted, cold rain, LEGS?, and some dreams. The kids might not be alright, oops


	31. Stripping off despair like a pair of pants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep meaning to add this to the top of a chapter and keep forgetting. Just as a little bit of upkeep, I want to add a little key about deer terms (because i constantly forget that not everyone is a language/deer nerd like me)
> 
> Stag = male deer  
> Buck = male deer  
> Hart = male deer  
> Doe = female deer  
> Hind = female deer  
> Fawn = baby deer
> 
> Stag/Buck/Hart and Doe/Hind mean basically the same thing (tho Hind/Hart sometimes (but not always) refer to older deer). The difference in these words typically come from different root languages that have melded together in English (as English typically does) so are mostly used as regional variants. In some cases specific terms are used for breeds of deer, but that’s not fully universal to my understanding.
> 
> Feel free to skip this next part, as it’s just me rambling about pointless linguistic worldbuilding. I’ve put too much thought into this, so you all are my captive audience! (or just skip this section). 
> 
> Relevant to this fic, different regions default to different terms. Hart/Hind is regional to Faerghus. Adrestia goes with calling any deer a deer, but also classifies the deer family as cervines (and in some really fancy writing, might list deer as cervum/cerva to classify gender, but this has long been out of fashion). Leicester, being somewhat of a hodgepodge between the other two nations, basically use whatever. They have a slight leaning towards Stag/Doe but will use whatever term they feel like.
> 
> For the 3 people that care: Though the 3 nations all speak the same language now, I hc that they used to have their own regional languages pre-Seiros. I base Leicester’s linguistic usage primarily on Middle English with an emphasis on the mix between higher and lower class language drift. It’s basically a mix of the other two nations, lower-class leaning towards Faerghan style that has been around longer and high-class leaning towards Adrestian which is more ‘fashionable’ and ‘refined’. So basically England.
> 
> Faerghus is typically Welsh, Celtic, or Old English in root, and Adrestia is Latin in root (canonically Adrestia is based off of Italy w/ germanic names according to the Dream Interview). It's only come up a little bit, but Dimitri knows Old Faerghan (basically a Welsh/old English mix). Old Faerghan was primarily preserved through oral methods with some writings left behind. Old Adrestian was mostly only preserved through writing. Old Leicester is a dead language, in part because it shared some Almyran roots that were rooted out with prejudice, and in part because it just wasn’t written down and wasn’t passed on, being overall overwritten by its western neighbors.
> 
> These differences rarely come up in casual speech due to, er, let’s say a holy-order that encourages one specific language conformity (and has been doing so for 1000+ years). Modern Fódlan is most comparable to the Nabatean language. Old Faerghan, Old Adrestian, and Old Leicester all share deep roots in Nabatean at a very distant level (think Indo-European - which yes, that means Almyran also falls distantly under this umbrella in the same way Persian and English are related languages.)
> 
> This WILL eventually matter for at least a minor plot point, but it’ll be explained through the story rather than in a word dump like this lol. Hopefully someone out there enjoyed my ramble

He gave Dimitri space. It’d been about two hours since he collected Dimitri from the ruins of the village. An hour since camp was fully set up, an hour since the little grave was found. An hour that Dimitri had been sitting in front of the grave site alone.

“…Miklan will not live another night, nor will any of his _wretched bandits_ harm another citizen of mine. I will ensure you all receive the justice you are due.” Dimitri wasn’t talking to him. Dimitri hadn’t even noticed him yet. Maybe leaving the prince alone had been a bad idea. “He’ll pay for this. They all will. I’ll kill every last one of them.” 

“Not on an empty stomach you won’t.” Claude jaunted over to the prince as if he hadn’t been eavesdropping, offering up a fish skewer. “Figured you weren’t coming back so I saved you from Raphael’s appetite.”

Dimitri barely spared him a glance. “I’m not hungry. Go away.” _Interesting._ His prediction that Dimitri would be all over him with worry was wrong. Instead the prince prioritized… praying? Was that what he was doing? _Talking to the dead again,_ he assumed. Dimitri wasn’t even sleep deprived this time.

He tutted. “You won’t keep your strength up tomorrow if you don’t eat. It’d be pretty sad if you fainted in the middle of battle because of hunger.” He wiggled the skewer by Dimitri’s nose.

“I am _not hungry,_ Claude. I’m busy, leave me alone.”

He eyed Dimitri, the grave marker, and the area around them. “Busy… right. Yep, you sure are busy. Busy _eating._ Come on, I put up with your fussing today. Now you gotta put up with mine. Want me to feed you? I’ll feed you if you refuse to eat.”

Dimitri roughly snatched the skewer, biting into it without ceremony. The crunches of his chewing were deafening. 

“There are bones in that. As a warning.” Dimitri took another aggressive bite, heedless of the bones he was chewing. _Crunch crunch crunch_ went Dimitri. When the crunching stopped, the prince chucked the empty skewer at his feet. _Note to self: passive-aggressive eating is a thing._

He hesitated. Dimitri told him to go away twice. The prince didn’t look or act like he wanted company. _Claude_ was pushy about his space, so he got it. Sometimes he liked being alone. Dimitri wanted to be alone. So he should leave. His feet drew him closer. Abandoning Dimitri like this felt wrong. He shifted, foot to foot, not a clue on what to say.

“Five dead,” Dimitri spoke, bowing his head. “Five ghosts, never to find rest. Not until that traitor is slain. Those bandits didn’t do this for survival. It was for the pleasure of killing. They cannot be forgiven.”

“It could’ve been worse.”

The metal of Dimitri’s gauntlets creaked. “It could have been prevented altogether! More corpses to heap at my feet. This never should have happened in the first place.”

He squeezed Dimitri’s shoulder. “There’s no reason to blame yourself. It’s—”

“Don’t _dare_ tell me this is not my fault. If I was but a year older, if I was on the throne, my country would not be falling to pieces. This is my burden to bear.”

Dimitri shouldn’t have joined this mission. It was too close to home for the prince. “Miklan and his goons are the only people responsible. This self-flagellation of yours is pointless. Hah, you can’t blame yourself for being born the year you were. C’mon Dima, let’s go to bed. You’ll look like a raccoon tomorrow if you don’t.”

Dimitri’s eyes narrowed on him, his lips turning down and showing teeth. “People are dead. They will never breathe another breath, yet here you stand at their very graves, attempting to breathe _levity?”_ For a heartbeat, he thought Dimitri was going to backhand him. He flinched, but his feet remained rooted in place. Dimitri bared his teeth in what was probably supposed to be intimidating. To Claude, it looked grief-stricken. “Leave me. Go, tend to your living. _I_ will tend to the dead.” A distant part of himself wanted to laugh at the statement, but Dimitri was serious. With his piece said, the prince faced away from him, staring back at the makeshift gravestone. 

Claude understood all life was precious — any loss was tragic. But that was nature. People died. It was vital to move forward, not to be mired down by the endless death that churned daily. Then again, Claude never lost anyone close to him like Dimitri. A hundred questions buzzed at the tip of his tongue. _‘Are you hearing voices again?’ ‘You didn’t know these people, why do you care so deeply?’ ‘Why are you blaming yourself?’_

_‘How do I help?’_

“What are you doing?” Dimitri muttered.

He unclipped Dimitri’s cloak from around his neck. Settling next to the prince, he plopped onto the ground and clasped it together around them both. “Tending to my living.”

“Why?” The words came out as a plea. “You have been frustrated with me all day long. Yet now that I ask you to leave, you stay. Why? I am unworthy of you. Wretchedly, truthfully, unworthy. My hands are drenched in blood, my steps haunted by the demands of the dead. If you continue to tether yourself to me, I will drag you into the eternal flames.” With a shaking hand, Dimitri fingered the clasp of the cloak. “You have seen me fall to pieces. I do not deserve you.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” Dimitri bowed his head and closed his eyes, accepting of Claude’s words in the wrong way. Claude had a bad feeling the prince was _listening_ to something. “Chin up, prince. I don’t care who deserves what. _No one_ deserves to be alone.”

“I do. My sins—”

 _“No.”_ He took Dimitri’s gloved hand and held it in his own. “Are you listening to your voices right now? Don’t listen to them, listen to me. I don’t care what you’ve done, what you _think_ you’ve done, I don’t care about any of it. Whatever ‘sin’ you think is so unforgivable, listen here: it doesn’t matter to me. So stop saying you’re not good enough, or lesser, or any of that.”

“You could never understand the burden I bear as a prince.” _Hah._ Dimitri closed his eyes. “It is my duty to shoulder the burdens of my people. _Me,_ alone. Yet I fail them time and time again.” Dimitri pried his hand away. “Stop trying to tie yourself to me. For my sins, I am destined for only ruin and suffering.”

“Oh yeah?” he snapped back. “Who decides that? The Goddess? Or are you creating some self-fulfilling prophecy?” He snatched Dimitri’s hand again, tightly this time. “I’ve got news for you, Dimitri: fate is what you make of it.”

“If that is what you believe, you are naive.”

He bit the inside of his cheek. For all that he knew he was idealistic, it hurt to hear it from Dimitri’s lips. “It’s called having a little bit of optimism. Maybe you should try it sometime.”

“Optimism is foolish. It will not bring back the dead.” Dimitri’s shoulders slumped as he hung his head. 

“But it allows us still _living_ to move forward.”

“I’m not in the mood to argue. Not everyone is as free as you, Claude. Go away.” Dimitri’s free-hand dug into the grass as blond brows furrowed. “Leave. Or else you’ll see who I _truly_ am, the beast I hide! Is that what you want, Claude?! Do you want me to hurt you?! Maybe then you’ll finally put some distance between us. Then you’ll understand I’m not worth your attention. Stop wasting your life on me! I’m not worth it! I’m not worth you!” As his volume rose, the prince snapped open his eyes, glaring eye to eye with him.

Claude just shook his head. “You don’t get to decide that.”

“You don’t _understand,”_ Dimitri choked for a third time. “You’re _different._ You can never understand me, or my pain, or my position. As a prince, I must—”

“Just stop.” He cupped Dimitri’s cheek, the bigger man flinching hard at the touch. Blue eyes flickered around before finally settling on his own. His cheek pressed into his hand, regret overwhelming Dimitri’s expression. “I’m not talking to _His Highness, Prince Blaiddyd_ right now. I’m talking to _Dimitri._ I’m talking to my dear friend, who shouldn’t obsess over what he might or might not deserve. I’m talking to my dear Dima, who time and time again has proven he is _good,_ plain and simple.”

“I’m not. You’ll learn someday I’m not the honorable man you say I am. It’s a mask, nothing but a fake persona.”

He rolled his eyes, immediately regretting the action. “Look. We all hide parts of ourselves. Hah, trust me, I do that too, you know I do. We’re not as different as you’re making us out to be.” Also, Dimitri wasn’t as subtle as he thought he was. All it took was one battle back at the beginning of the year to see there was something hurt and wrathful hidden within the perfect prince. “You know how I am about mysteries. I happen to find whatever mystery those eyes of yours hide to be part of your charm.”

“You shouldn’t. If you knew the sinful beast I hid within myself, you would run…”

“Nah, not from you.” He smiled for Dimitri’s sake. “I’ve known quite a few ‘beasts’ in my life. Turns out they’re all big sweethearts deep down. There’s only one person that can decide who I spend my time with.” He squeezed Dimitri’s hand in his own, pressing their foreheads together. “Me. So stop trying to tell me what to do. You should know by now that just makes me stubborn.”

“You are… tch. I planned to say you are too good to me. But I suppose that would further upset you.” Dimitri pulled back, but not far. Claude withdrew the hand on Dimitri’s cheek, wrapping him in a side-hug. The prince went silent, staring at the gravemarker. Claude continued to hold his hand, hoping that just being around was enough. He ached to fill the silence. Distantly the voices of the other Golden Deer could be heard, boisterous as ever.

He stared at the gravemarker too. It was made from hastily scraped together wood. Five names were messily burned into the wood. What really caught his attention were the three words underneath the names.

_‘We will return.’_

If only Dimitri would read the tenacity of that bold statement. _‘They have killed us, destroyed our home, and driven us away. Here lies those who perished. Despite everything, we will return. We will not let them win.’_ Maybe he was reading too much into it. Maybe it was merely a promise to return and replace the gravemarker with something more permanent. Fódlandi were particular about how they buried their dead. Regardless, the promise to return was a promise to continue. To push forward. To _survive._ If only Dimitri would see that.

Despite wearing two cloaks, he was still weak to the cold. His own cloak was a thin windbreaker. Dimitri’s cloak, while warm, was spread between them with open folds leaking cold air. He didn’t want to crowd Dimitri any further, so he resisted the temptation to glue himself to Dimitri’s body heat. His attention shifted away from Dimitri and only to staving off shivers. Dusk was falling and it was dragging what little warmth of the day remained with it.

As the first drops of rain fell, his fight against shivering failed entirely. He pulled up his hood and pulled up Dimitri’s for him. Soon it would be dark and it wouldn’t be easy to find their way back to the campsite when everyone fell silent. Already the distant voices were quieting down as rainfall slowly pattered into a rising rhythm. 

“Dima,” he did his best not to chatter, “let’s head back to camp. The rain’s only going to get worse.”

“Head back on your own. Don’t suffer for my sake.”

“Nope. Either we’re both warm and cozy or we’re both freezing and wet. No in-between.” And he was _well_ on his way to being freezing and wet.

His hope that Dimitri’s ‘fuss mode’ would kick in was dashed as the prince just hummed. Claude gave up all pretenses of distance and clung to Dimitri as the downpour increased. Their coats were meant for rainy weather, but eventually the rain was going to soak through. Already the heat was being sapped from his body and the ground under him was soaking his pants. Dimitri barely acknowledged him, glazed eyes staring at the wooden marker. 

“We’re _both_ going to get sick tomorrow if we don’t head for shelter. Can’t make Miklan pay for this if you’re busy hacking up a lung.” He was remarkably resistant to natural illnesses (probably a product of his crest), but Dimitri didn’t need to know that. Hilda whined about cold weather making her sick all the time, so it was probably a common concern.

“They can tear every limb from my body and I will still fight for justice,” Dimitri growled.

“Cool, dramatic, I like it. You know what I don’t like? Freezing to death. This marker isn’t going anywhere and neither are the bodies. You can come look at them some other time. It’s getting dark, you won’t be able to see them soon anyways.”

“Just _stop._ Nothing is keeping you here.”

He squeezed Dimitri’s waist. “Uh, hello? It’s freezing! If I let go of you, I’ll turn into a Claudcicle. C’mon _Dima,_ this is your chance to carry me and tuck me into bed. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all day? This is a limited-time fuss deal, sale ends soon!”

Dimitri heaved a long sigh. “It’s hardly cold at all. Merely wet.”

“It’s _freezing.”_

“If it was freezing, it would be snowing instead of raining.”

“Gasp! A joke! I really am getting through to you!”

“Not a joke, just fact. You can walk yourself back to the campsite.”

“Nope. Can’t. My legs don’t work anymore. Too cold and wet. I need a handsome escort to carry me. Wouldn’t want me to be stolen away by bandits after all!”

Dimitri _finally_ reacted, wrapping his arm tightly around Claude’s waist. _“No one_ will touch you. I won’t allow any harm to come to you.”

“Y’know what’s trying to harm me right now? The weather. I want to dry off by the campfire Dima! Much longer and our cloaks will be soaked through completely.”

Dimitri hummed, loosening his hold only slightly. “I owe it to those who lost their lives to hold vigil at their resting place. If I ‘escort’ you back, you’ll scheme some manner to keep me from returning.”

“He won’t scheme anything, because you’re both required back at camp.”

“Teach!” Thank Teach, his one true lord and savior! What a benevolent taskmaster. 

“Claude. If you sleep in tomorrow morning and make our march late, I’m giving you weed-duty for a month.”

 _“Teeeach…”_ A cruel, cruel deity indeed. 

“Same for you, Dimitri. You can wallow as long as you want in Hanneman’s class. Under my command, you do as I say.”

Dimitri bowed his head. “I am paying my respects. Not wallowing.”

“Your respects have been appraised, priced, sold at market value, and delivered a profit. The market’s closed for the night.”

“Ah… what?”

“Bedtime.”

“You heard them Dima, bedtime.”

Dimitri sighed. “I suppose I am under your order for the time being.” In one smooth motion Dimitri stood, taking Claude with him.

“You don’t actually need to carry me. Dimitri. I only said that to get you back to the campsite. Dima!” Despite his protests, he clung tightly to the prince, soaking up every ounce of escaped heat.

The campsite wasn’t far, but it was good Teach came and got them. Night was well and truly upon them. There was no moonlight to light their way and the pounding of rain intensified to block out all noise.

Sylvain winked at them as they entered the erected shelter. Leonie and Lorenz gave them some pointed looks from their spots on night watch. He darted out of Dimitri’s hold and ducked out of their shared cloak, zipping to the crackling fire. Shivering violently, he planted himself as close as possible to the fire without becoming fuel himself.

Leonie poked a stick into the fire, smirking at him. “You’re in luck, Claude. No watch shift for you tonight.”

Unclipping his own thin cloak, he set it out to dry by the fire. He gestured for Dimitri to do the same. Yawning, he stretched. Nothing in the world was more appealing than the prospect of curling around the blaze and conking out. _Well,_ almost nothing. “Fine by me. Mind flipping our clothes in an hour or so? I can’t stand marching in damp clothes.”

“You and me both. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure nothing goes up in flames that isn’t supposed to.” She gripped his shoulder and tugged him a few inches back. “That includes you.”

“Thanks.” His personal jacket was a bit wet too unfortunately, so he laid that out as well. Peeling off his boots and socks, those joined his cloak and jacket. At least his undershirt was dry, for all the good his thin short-sleeved top did him. He toed Dimitri with his numb foot, poking at the prince’s own wet clothes. Dimitri, unlike Claude, had been squatting, so his pants were fine. His tunic was wet though and it took some coaxing to get Dimitri to strip off his tunic. No wonder Dimitri stayed warm so often — _his_ long-sleeved undershirt looked decently warm. 

He eyed Dimitri’s bedroll. It was already laid out and everything. The real question was who rolled it out. Sylvain or Gilbert? Probably Gilbert. He was _certain_ Dimitri hadn’t packed the pillow and extra blanket himself either. Someone was spoiling their prince. Best of all, Dimitri’s bedroll was positioned in the perfect spot. Distant enough from everyone else so as to not be bothered by Raphael’s snoring or overheard by _certain_ gossipers. Close enough to the woods to be able to make a quick break for it, but not _too_ close in case bandits stumbled upon them. It was the perfect position.

“That bedroll of yours looks extra cozy. Very warm. Very nice.” Dimitri grunted. _“Veeery nice._ Wow, I sure would love to sleep in a bedroll like that.” He leaned against Dimitri, clearing his throat. “You listening, Your Princeliness? I’d be very happy if you let me use your bedroll tonight.”

Dimitri slowly blinked at the fire. “Hm? Oh, yes, of course. It’s yours. Please direct me to your bedroll, then.”

“It’s not set up, I think I forgot it. Why do you want it? We’re sharing one.” Not like it mattered anymore if any of his classmates caught him snuggling up to Dimitri. _Ugh._ At least something good came out of his mushroom trip.

Dimitri twitched. “Ah. Right. Of course that’s what you meant…” Across from him, Leonie snickered into her palm. He _dared_ her to comment with his eyes. She just winked back at him. And gave him a thumbs-up? _Whatever._

“What’d you think I meant? Never mind.” He wrapped his arms around himself, back to shivering again. His legs were _freezing,_ pants completely soaked through. “Go lay down, I’ll be over in a sec.”

“I’ll stay up a bit longer.”

“Nope. Bedtime, Teach’s orders. Also _my_ orders, ‘cause I’m freezing. Go warm up the bed for me. ”

Dimitri cleared his throat, cheeks flushed from the cold himself. “Very well then…” Leonie was snickering again, ugh.

Claude finished getting ready for bed, drying off his hair as best he could. Then he stripped off his pants, setting them aside by the cloaks. 

“Claude von Riegan!” Lorenz shout-hissed, popping out from the woods and marching over to him. “Whatever are you doing! Cover yourself back up! You are indecent, there are ladies around!”

“Lorenz, my pants are soaked. I’ll die if I sleep in those.” His _soul_ would, if nothing else. “I don’t have any spares. What’s the matter, never seen a leg before? Fun fact, legs are universal in all genders.” He waved his foot at Lorenz for emphasis, wiggling his toes.

“Lookin’ good, Claude!” Leonie whistled, giving him another thumbs-up.

“See? Leonie knows a leg when she sees one.” He patted his goosebump-covered thigh. “Now get back to your watch. Watch the woods, not me.” He was half-way surprised that no one commented on him being a bit leaner than his clothes suggested. It shouldn’t have come as a shock, but old expectations died hard. Fódlan didn’t put nearly as much emphasis on physical size like Almyra did. Probably because tiny people like Hilda could beat people like Raphael in a contest of brute-strength.

While Lorenz was busy fuming, he scrambled over to Dimitri’s bedroll. Dimitri, who was as red as Claude had ever seen him. It was a tight fit to cram both of them into the bedroll, but he made it work. It just took some persistent wiggling to squeeze himself beside Dimitri. The lack of room itself pushed him flush against Dimitri, but the blond made sure to wrap his arms around him despite that.

“What?” he whispered as soon as he got situated. Dimitri opened his mouth a few times without saying anything, glubbing like a fish. “You okay?”

“Y-your legs…”

“Are freezing, I know.” He rubbed them up and down, trying to warm himself with friction. “Ugh, my small clothes are damp too. Wish I brought a second pair. Hindsight, I know, I know.” 

“Don’t take those off!” Dimitri whisper-shouted

He snickered. “Didn’t plan to.”

“I’m, ahem, I’m sorry you’re cold and wet because of me.”

“You're forgiven. I’m also _warm_ because of you.” He jammed his frozen hands under Dimitri’s shirt, splaying them against Dimitri’s chiseled and _warm_ abs. He moaned at the toasty warmth, eyelids fluttering shut. “Gods, you’re so perfect. Your legs are warm, right? What am I saying, you’re always warm. You take off your pants too.”

 _“Claude!”_ Dimitri gurgled, somehow turning redder. “I, I’m not going to, why would I—” 

“Because I can only soak up so much heat past your pants!” He snuck his numb toes up Dimitri’s pant legs, poking at his shapely calves. “I’m going to get frostbite if you don’t.”

Dimitri audibly gulped. “It’s nowhere near cold enough for that. You’ll warm up soon enough. I’m not taking off my pants.”

“Not like anyone’s gonna see them. Just keep them in the sleeping bag, I promise I won’t sneak a peek.” _Ugh,_ Fódlandi were _such_ prudes. It was just _legs!_ “Please? Don’t you want to make it up to me?” 

“I… suppose… n-no, I can’t, please don’t make me. Ask anything else of me.”

If he pushed, Dimitri would cave. The soft prince always did. With an over dramatic sigh, he showed mercy. “Fine, be that way.” He hummed into Dimitri’s neck, shoving his numb nose into that sweet, sweet warmth. 

* * *

“Think they’re asleep?” Sylvain whispered, jerking his head to where His Highness and his Leicester teddy bear were snuggled together on the other side of the camp. If Gilbert hadn’t fallen asleep so fast, the old knight would’ve had a cow. Gilbert’s plan to set up Dimitri’s bedroll away from the rest of the Golden Deer to keep him from Claude _really_ backfired. Now the duo had a tiny bit of privacy to whisper to each other.

“Probably,” Hilda whispered back. “We totally should’ve had a bet about Claude stripping. I can’t _believe_ I didn’t think of that.”

“No way. Is that a common occurrence?” It was like Claude was _trying_ to push Dimitri’s jealousy buttons. Then again, it was _Claude,_ so that was very likely (unless the guy was naive about that too).

“Nah. Can’t say I’m surprised though.”

 _“I’m_ shocked,” Ignatz murmured, rolling over to face them. “He took them off! Right in front of Leonie!”

Lysithea grumbled something before rolling a little bit away from Cyril, joining the gossip circle. “Clearly you’ve learned nothing about him, Ignatz. Claude lives to surprise us. He is surely scheming all sorts of unpredictable things to keep us on our toes. Now that we saw him…” she trailed off, clearing her throat. “You know.”

“We’re _not_ talking about that,” Hilda quietly snapped. “I just wanna forget that whole thing ever happened.”

“Do you really think it was just the mushrooms?” Ignatz turned his head towards Dimitri and Claude. “What if everything he said was the honest truth?”

“We can’t trust our _own_ memories about what happened. We all agree that the tree wasn’t there when we made camp. And the long sleep… Hilda’s right, better to just forget about the whole thing. We’re lucky we woke up at all.”

“I suppose you’re right. He must want us to forget all about it too. Still, it feels wrong to just ignore everything he said. He seemed so scared…” Hilda cleared her throat, nodding at Sylvain. Ignatz flinched. “N-not that anything important happened!”

He winked. “Aww, don’t stop talking just because of little ol’ me. I know how to keep a secret. Though I am dying to know what scared a fella like Claude.”

Ignatz hunched his shoulders, looking away. “Sorry…”

Lysithea rolled her eyes. “Nothing scared him, because _nothing_ happened. That was months ago anyways.”

“Less than a week,” Hilda mulishly corrected.

“Ah… right. Yes, of course.” Lysithea’s shoulders slumped. “I keep forgetting.”

“I don’t want to go to sleep,” Ignatz admitted, shamefaced. “What if it happens again? What if it’s longer this time?”

“Shut up!” Lysithea snapped. “You aren’t helping. I don’t want to sleep either, but it’s not like we can avoid it forever! You must grow a backbone already. It’s ridiculous to be scared Ignatz, you’ll get nowhere in life being such a coward.”

“I never said I was scared,” the archer muttered to himself.

“So there _is_ a reason you Deer haven’t all fallen asleep immediately. Was wondering about that.” Claude, Raphael, Flayn, Cyril, and (maybe?) Marianne were the only Golden Deer sleeping. Leonie and Lorenz were on night watch, but they’d been _oddly_ quick to leap at taking a shift. All the Deer had been oddly quick to volunteer. _Even Hilda._ “Worried about the Itha boogeyman? Don’t worry, that beast only sleeps under children’s beds, not bedrolls.”

“If you have nothing intelligent to say, say nothing at all!” Lysithea attempted to light him on fire with her eyes. If that was possible, he would have been roasted alive a long, long time ago.

He rolled onto his back, opening his arms wide. “How about a goodnight hug? Ladies _love_ my hugs. Follow your house leader’s example and you’ll have an excellent night sleep with me. What'dya say Hilda? Hmmm?”

She snapped her fingers. “Hey, maybe he has a good point! The buddy system is a great idea. With literally anyone else.” With that, she stood up and dragged her bedroll away from him and beside Marianne.

“Yowch. Rude.” He eyed around the camp. Now that he thought about it… Claude and Dimitri were (obviously) snuggled up to each other. Hilda was slowly worming her way into Marianne’s embrace. Flayn was using Raphael as her own oversized teddy bear. Before she joined in to gossip, Lysithea was huddled beside Cyril. “Is cuddling just a thing you guys do casually in Leicester?” He jerked a thump towards His Highness and the royal teddy bear. “Those two have been glued together all day and no one even batted an eye.” 

_He_ knew, of course, about Claude’s… ‘affectionate’ tendencies from Dimitri. And obviously he caught the duo close together more than once during school hours. Claude really had no shame when it came to sitting on His Highness’ lap. _Everyone_ in school knew those two were physically close. But Claude really let loose during this march. According to Dimitri, it was common for him to act that way in private, but Sylvain had never seen the mysterious house leader act so openly affectionate with Dimitri. If it wasn’t for Dimitri using him as a confidant, his mind would have been blown seeing the nonstop touching from Claude. The Golden Deer leader acted downright _needy._ Yet none of the Golden Deer seemed the least bit surprised.

“It’s _Claude,”_ Lysithea said, as if that explained everything.

“He’s, um, very… friendly?” Ignatz winced, looking away. The two Deer exchanged a long look.

“Friendly. Indeed. That’s Claude.”

 _Okay,_ he was totally missing some context. “Friendly. Yep. And I’m _‘friendly’_ with the ladies.”

“You will do well to keep your gossiping jaw shut, or else I’ll spell your mouth closed.” Lysithea jabbed a finger at him, eyes narrowing. “Don’t speak about things you don’t understand. Not everyone is a degenerate flirt wasting their life on inane distractions like _you._ Claude is nothing like you, so don’t bother trying to pretend you understand him.”

“Uh, wow, that came out of nowhere. Sounds like someone has a crush on her house leader.”

The anger he expected didn’t come. Lysithea rolled her eyes and Ignatz actually _snickered._ “As if. That fool only has eyes for tall, blond, and Dimitri. Even someone with rocks for brains like yourself can see that.

“Is she like this with everyone, or am I special?” he asked Ignatz

“Don’t take it personally,” Ignatz said with a weak grin.

“No, _do_ take it personally.”

“Got it, got it. You’re just rude, I see.”

“Don’t say that.” Ignatz didn’t hesitate for even a second. “You really should mind your own business if you don’t want to get yelled at.” A pause, then, “oh, not to be rude! Did that sound rude of me? Sorry, I didn’t mean to come off abrasive!”

“Don’t apologize for having a spine,” Lysithea grumbled. The Deer were tighter than he gave them credit for. For such a loose coalition of nobility without a royal bloodline to tie themselves to, they closed ranks quick.

“How about some apology snuggles? Come here and I’ll forgive you.” He opened his arms again, bouncing his eyebrows. “Everyone else is paired off Ignatz, it’s just you and me now. C’mon, I won’t bite.”

“Um n-no, no thank you!”

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by an odd noise. Leonie was laughing quietly, slightly strained. _“This again?”_ Lorenz hissed loud enough to be heard over the rain.

His eyes nearly fell out of his head. He bolted upright, scrambling for a weapon. Not that he had any idea what good it would serve him. “Whuh?” He barely dared to breathe. The creature walked over to Dimitri and Claude, sniffing the duo. Then, it curled up around them. Neither woke. It was touching His Highness. His heart skipped as all the blood drained from his face. _Goddess protect them._

“It’s back!” Ignatz whispered, yanking out a sketchbook. He shared a grin with Sylvain. “Quite the sight, isn’t it.”

“That’s… what. You’re… excited?” His eyes darted between Ignatz and His Highness. _“What?”_

“What’s your problem? Put that away.” Lysithea shoved at his lance. “Hmph.” With one final roll of her eyes, she rolled over and tucked back against Cyril. Casually. As if there was nothing wrong.

The White Hart looked at him and his blood turned to ice. He pinched himself, then checked his pulse to be sure he wasn’t asleep or dead. The specter of the afterlife, guider of lost souls, and guardian of death’s border stared back.

Sylvain knew the stories. To glimpse the White Hart was grounds for immediate retreat. They only existed where the veil between life and death was thinnest. Getting close to one was _asking_ to accidentally stumble into the afterlife. The stories were not kind to living who roamed the realm of the dead. The only other reason a White Hart could appear was if some unspoken divine rule was being broken. He wasn’t sure which possibility was worse. 

There were no stories about if a White Hart _approached_ someone. As far as he was aware, catching one was impossible. Hell, he thought the creatures were supposed to be ghosts themselves. Clearly not true. The White Hart shifted, curling its foreleg over His Highness and Claude possessively. A beat passed, then it laid its head down on top of the duo, as if claiming them. Neither woke.

“What,” he began, from the depths of his heart, “the absolute fuck?”

* * *

Dimitri didn’t intend to fall asleep. Dimitri _intended_ to spend the night paying vigil to the ghosts of the fallen. After the professor forced him back to camp, Dimitri _intended_ to sit by the fire and aid nightwatch until dawn. When Claude _pushed,_ Dimitri _intended_ to lay down wherever and pretend to sleep while listening to the demands of the dead.

 _His cunning, adorable, innocent, scheming Claude. His stubborn, frustrating, nagging, foolish Claude._ Claude was wrong. Claude _was_ too good for him. Claude was too good for _any_ mere mortal. His dear friend deserved the moon, the stars, and the sun itself. His dearest, beloved… 

_People died._ He didn’t have time to lose himself in pleasant thoughts. For that reason alone, Dimitri tried to stay awake. He didn’t _deserve_ a blissful dream. He didn’t _deserve_ rest. He deserved to be punished for ignoring the calls of the damned. In his own way, Claude delivered that very punishment… 

_Legs. Those legs._ Dear Goddess, he wanted to run his bare hands down those smooth, delicious legs. Those legs were sinful in the most divine manner. They drove all manner of thought from his mind. But for once, they weren’t _his_ legs to look at. Not when Claude _presented_ himself to his entire class! Only _he_ was allowed to look at Claude while vulnerable. No one else was allowed to prey on _his_ Claude.

 _His._ **_His._ ** Not for the first time tonight, Dimitri resisted the overwhelming desire to mark Claude. To suck bruises into his neck. To bite marks into his collarbone. To yank off his gloves and drag his nails down Claude’s _perfect, toned, thick_ thighs. To make Claude cry out, _to hell with whoever heard them._ Then they would know Claude was off limits.

He bit his lip. Claude’s breath puffed across his throat, face still tucked delicately into his neck. Ever since his ‘meltdown’ around Claude (that he still didn’t fully remember), he was more and more cognizant of the fact that _skin contact with Claude silenced the ghosts._ That was all it took. Something about his godly flesh drove away the specters of the dead. By that metric, he should push Claude away. The dead deserved to be heard. It was only right he listen to their grievances as he was unable to do in life. But how could he possibly push Claude away? His dear friend remained by his side no matter how much he rebuffed him. Nothing he said disgusted Claude, somehow. He didn’t understand. More than anything, he wanted to cherish his beloved.

 _More than anything,_ he wanted Claude to stop wiggling his legs! Claude wiggled in his sleep constantly. Not even from his childhood memories of sleeping with Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid did he remember any of them wiggling as much as Claude did. Sometimes Claude wiggled to burrow further under the blankets. Sometimes Claude wiggled to shift his position. Often he wiggled _towards_ Dimitri and never to get away. Plenty of times Claude wiggled just because. Without someone to hold him in place Claude would certainly wiggle himself off his bed nightly. It was when Claude went entirely still and entirely silent that meant something was wrong. A nightmare or fear. When Claude wiggled freely, it meant he was happy and safe. Safe with _Dimitri._

Claude wasn’t performing one of his happy dream wiggles. No, his legs were cold, so he was rubbing them together, against _his_ legs too. No pair of _legs_ had any right to be so tempting! He desperately needed Claude to put some pants on and vehemently desired Claude to bare himself completely. He forced his hands to remain above the belt. No matter how much he desired to touch Claude’s _bare, sensual_ legs, he would control himself. Claude _trusted_ him, as ill advised the notion. 

An adorable little noise mumbled from Claude’s lips. How one man could be simultaneously so handsome, sexy, and innocently adorable was a mystery. Claude mumbled something again, squirming a bit. It was the squirm he typically did when he tried to steal more blankets, which meant he was cold. Claude dunked his head downwards, nosing his way past Dimitri’s collar. Before he knew it, Claude had jammed his face into his shirt, stretching the collar of his undershirt in order to burrow even deeper.

If he took off his gloves, perhaps he could bring more warmth to his poor, suffering friend. He could rub his hands up and down Claude’s back for friction, tracing the divots of his spine. Just as he was already doing. But without his gloves. Without his gloves, he might slip a bit lower. Claude’s legs must be cold. He could rub up and down those silky, hairless, butter-smooth thighs, reaching around and squeezing his generously padded— 

_Dead people, people died, wretched Miklan. Horrible, horrible things._ He could _not_ allow himself to give into such sinful thoughts in the middle of a mission! If only his father’s voice was around to echo his disapproval, or his step-mother’s cold glare, or… 

Even through the cloth of his sleep-gloves, Claude’s rear was delicious to squeeze. How could he focus on anything _aside_ from Claude? No matter how much he tried to focus, he never could hold onto negative thoughts when Claude was so close like this. It was impossible. Claude’s search for warm skin was far too endearing. Claude and his luscious legs were far too _tempting._

He could feel it. The slipping of linear thought. The loosening of muscles. The skips in time as it all fell apart. He was falling asleep and there was no resisting Claude’s pull. 

Back in Claude’s dorm, he knew he was dreaming. _He didn’t care._ Claude shimmered before him, holy and golden. The divine being smiled coyly, dragging a hand down his wet, glistening, bare legs. He was wet all over, his hair, his pecs, his abs, his thighs and calves and glutes and ass. 

_“I’m cold, Dima,”_ dream-Claude whined, pouting. _“Please dry me off?”_ His kitten ears flattened against his messy curls, his fluffy tail wiggling playfully.

He got to work, starting from the bottom. He worshiped Claude, kissing his ankles. He lapped up every drop of water, whispering blasphemous prayers to Claude and only to Claude. He was dying of thirst, and Claude was his well to drink from. He greedily drank every last drop, tongue buzzing with sensation.

He spent decades on each leg, tracing careful and gentle patterns across the supple flesh. He caressed his dearest, his brutish touch unable to harm divinity. The inner meat of Claude’s thighs were sensitive and ticklish, earning him delighted giggles and cute wheezes. He didn’t stop, and Claude didn’t ask him to. He nibbled patterns everywhere, enough to make Claude gasp and sigh but never enough that he cried out in pain. 

Upon his hips Dimitri spent a century. He cleaned Claude’s front, licking his lips in the face of Claude’s interest. _“Not now,”_ Claude purred, both literally and figuratively. He feasted on Claude’s soft rear instead, enjoying the impossibly soft yet firm and muscular cheeks.

Up his abs he licked, cleaning every crevice. Up his spine. His sides. His armpits, just as divinely hairless as his legs. His shoulders, his arms, his wrists, his knuckles and palms and every single finger.

 _“Not my throat,”_ Claude bashfully reminded him, blushing brilliantly dark. Next Dimitri cleaned Claude’s lips. Thoroughly, again and again and again. _“Dima…!”_ Claude cried between kisses, lips red and swollen. _“More, I want more!”_

 _“Everything,”_ Dimitri promised. _“Everything you want and more. My life, my soul, my body. All in tribute to you, my God.”_

 _“You’ve already given that to me,”_ Claude replied, raising his hand. Dimitri kissed the beautiful sapphire ring. _“I am yours, Dima. Your God. Only yours.”_ Claude’s hands traced down his body, tracing at the scantily clad Blaiddyd-blue outfit. _“Only you get to see me in this, beloved. You and our many children.”_

Dimitri chuckled. _“They must be wondering where we are, my dear. They’ll be expecting breakfast soon. So many little mouths to feed.”_

 _“We can treat them and let them sleep in,”_ Claude replied, nibbling a kitten-kiss to his chin. _“I want_ my _breakfast, Dima. Won’t you warm me up, Dima? I love you, my Dima. Please warm me, Dima, I’m cold.”_

 _“You’re so cute when you whine.”_ He engulfed Claude in a hug. Something warm settled over both of them. A blanket? Yes. A heavy, toasty blanket settled over them both. Claude beamed.

He nibbled at Claude’s earlobe, just below the brilliant sapphire earring. He traced his tongue around the jewelry, savoring Claude’s mewls. He suckled on the earring, tracing his fingers around Claude’s delicate wrists. Crafted to fit perfectly were two thick bands of silver, covered in more sapphires. They matched the bands around his ankles too. He traced up to Claude’s biceps, where more silver and sapphire decorated his upper arms. Claude squirmed in his grip.

_“Stop teasing, Dima!”_

He chuckled, giving one last suckle to the earring. _“Turnabout is fair play, dearest.”_ He moved up to Claude’s impossibly soft curls, kissing his little kitten ears. His hand wandered up as well, tracing the blue collar at the base of Claude’s throat. It was the finest of silks, his Blaiddyd symbol embroidered with pure silver thread. His other hand rose higher, scratching behind Claude’s delicate ear.

Claude purred, rubbing his face into Dimitri’s. _“My king,”_ Claude sighed.

 _“My God,”_ Dimitri replied in kind.

He went to continue kissing Claude. Something chirped behind him. _Someone._ Noodle darted into their bed, bubbling herself between them. They both laughed, doting on their little girl. _“I see someone got impatient!”_

 _“She takes after you, dear. She so loves being spoiled.”_ He pressed a chaste kiss to Claude’s forehead, then one to Noodle’s. _“Shall we get up and wake the rest of our children?”_

Claude shook his head. _“I don’t want to get up, it’s too cold. It’s early, they can wait. Stay with me, Dima.”_

He couldn’t say no to his Claude. He petted both Noodle and Claude, the former eagerly butting into his hand and the latter purring, snuggling and rubbing up against him. 

They rested together for hours. There was no urgent business to attend to. There was no distant call for his attention. There was no threat to his kingdom or people, no threat to his beloved or family. Father and Stepmother took care of business while he was busy with Claude or their children, so there was no rush in the world to get out of bed. For endless stretches of hours he rested with Claude and Noodle, perfectly at peace. Everything was at peace. And nothing was wrong.

_“I love you both so much. Please never leave me, Claude.”_

_“I promise.”_ Claude pressed a kiss to the emerald ring around his own finger, glimmering with golden light. That same golden light twinkled mischievously in his beloved’s eyes. _“I know you’ll keep us safe forever. You worry too much, my strong Dima. It’s not like I can die, remember?”_

 _“I’d rather not test it,”_ he admitted.

_“Dima, I love you. Dima. Dimitri. Dimitri…!”_

“Uhh?” He forced his eyes open, groggily blinking in the dawn light. Waking reality wobbled around him, slowly sliding into focus. His mind fumbled with the sudden transition. Claude’s bed was gone and so was Noodle. He didn’t know where he was.

Grief crashed into him with the certainty that his memories were nothing but a dream. What he wouldn’t give to switch the two. If only _this_ was a nightmare, this waking weight of endless crushing responsibility and duty. If the tragedy of Duscur could be wiped from existence as well as the death of father and stepmother and Glenn and the endless innocent souls. 

He inhaled deeply, letting Claude’s scent wash through him. Pine and spice grounded him. Selfish dreaming was not a luxury he could afford to indulge. 

His dear friend was bundled up with him. As was sometimes the case whenever he slept with Claude, his dream remained achingly vivid. He still felt the phantom touches of Claude’s flesh on his bare hands, the slide of scales from Noodle’s body, the buzzing taste from the rainwater he licked Claude clean of. At least the dream ended in a more wholesome manner this time. One of these days he was going to wake up and spill right on top of Cl— 

_Think about literally anything else!_

It was still dark. If he was alone, he would get up regardless of how many hours were between him and dawn. As elusive as sleep was, it rarely came for him twice. But getting up would mean disturbing Claude and that wasn’t acceptable. 

Odd. Why had he assumed it was dawn? He swore it was light that woke him up, but the fire was only dim embers. Perhaps it was the heat that woke him. He was _baking_ in his bedroll. There was a heavy blanket against his back that _radiated_ heat. It must have been warmed by the fire recently. Though, that made little sense— 

“Nngh…” Claude groaned. A shot of adrenalin bolted through him. Claude was gripping him tightly, squeezing his arms like his life depended on it, his breathing coming out in sharp little gasps. He immediately brushed his fingers through Claude’s curls, carefully knocking their foreheads together. With a quiet whimper, Claude’s grip slowly relaxed. His expression stayed tight, scrunched in either pain or a nightmare.

“You’re safe with me,” he whispered into Claude’s ear. “Shh, shh, you’re okay. I have you.” His forehead and fingertips tingled as a numbness spread throughout his body. Claude choked out a near silent cry, grip tightening again as every muscle in his body went tense. Dimitri was helpless as his own muscles relaxed fully, his thoughts slipping into something warm and fuzzy.

He should… wake Claude… 

_“Dima…”_ Dream-Claude smiled like a cat. _“Let me help cool you off. You must be so thirsty.”_ Claude glistened with fresh rainwater glimmering golden in the sunlight. _“Won't you take a sip?”_

 _“Anything for you.”_ Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew this wasn’t the real Claude before him. Dimitri was a selfish man, so he drank from the Claude conjured by his mind, teasing moans and cries from the siren. All the while he wondered and hoped he might someday please the real Claude in the same manner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri: I’m a horrible beast  
> Claude: Pff. People say beasts are ‘horrible’ and ‘vicious’ and ‘dangerous’ ALL the time. But I’VE never been hurt by a ‘blood-thirsty’ wolf or ‘man-eating’ bear, and I’ve met plenty of those! Deep down they’re all big snuggly sweethearts. Just like you.  
> Dimitri, panicking: That’s a metaphor, right?  
> Claude: ‘Skull-crusher the boar’ has a very deceptive name. He’s very warm and soft and loves hugs, and my parents were totally dumb to say I couldn’t visit him. I visited him anyways, obviously. When I was little he even let me ride him!  
> Dimitri: why do you have no self-preservation.
> 
> Dimitri: >:(  
> Claude: *exists*  
> Dimitri: Claude I am *trying* to contemplate murder! Stop being so handsome!!  
> Claude: ???
> 
> GD when the White Stag 1st showed up: huh?? wtf?!?!? Uhhh 911 help this isn't supposed to happen?!  
> GD now: Oh look. Another weird event. Let me cross this off my bingo card. If an animal brings Claude a magic sword, I'll have a full line  
> Sylvain: UHM. you guys live like this?!
> 
> Dimitri’s 3 moods:  
> I’m despicable  
> I want to cherish my dear friend  
> LEGS 
> 
> Dimitri: Claude is an innocent kitten  
> Dream-Claude: meow ;3  
> Dimitri: Oh no he's a SEXY kitten!!
> 
> Claude: My dream is to unite Fódlan and Almyra, then unite all people around the world. What’s your dream?  
> Dimitri: Catboy!Claude domestic AU, Everyone lives/nobody dies
> 
> Boy howdy wouldn’t it be something if Leicester and Faerghus had vastly different tales about the White-Male-Deer ;) Surely this is no cause for panic. White Stag = White Hart, they’re just called differently between Faerghus and Leicester  
> (and maybe... some of you noticed... that the White Hind seems to share some characteristics with the White Hart. It's almost like the White Hind might be a story originally from Faerghus ;) )


	32. Toasty Deer Dad on Deck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lil personal update.
> 
> Sooo... writing burnout! Been struggling with it for a bit now. It's not writer's block at least, because I can still squeeze some drops of writing jooice from my brainstem. However, my updates might be a little slow until I get my rhythm back. On the bright side, my habit of writing daily is still intact (I am _awful_ at forming routine habits, so no way am I going to allow *that* to lapse. Screw burnout, I've worked hard on the habit! lol). On the further bright side, this fic **should** still update roughly weekly. I have a pretty significant backlog that I can post so long as I kick my butt into editing it all. Regardless, if my updates come a bit later than usual, this is why.
> 
> This update is mostly regarding Starlight Vomit and Swift hooves (bc I know a lot of my readers here read my other fics). This burnout is really inconvenient because I'm *SO* close to finishing SV. I'm chipping away at it. I’m finishing the rest of the fic all together before I post the next chapter to make sure I’ve wrapped up all my loose threads (hopefully), which has also delayed it a bit. It’s mostly done and the hard part is out of the way, so I’m hoping to have next chapter out within a week, but we’ll see. Swift Hooves is also chugging along slowly. I have so many ideas for Swift Hooves and so little writing jooice in the jooice bank. Regardless, it will be updated eventually (because i hate leaving things on a cliffhanger and also I wanna get back to fun-times away from eldritch scary Rhea lol).
> 
> Anyways, I mostly just want to get this off my chest so my brain can stop looping about 'hey self, look at me. ~~bitch.~~ update.' Don't get me wrong, it's just fic lol my soft deadlines are all self-imposed. Maybe I'll write a few 1-shots to get the jooices flowing again, or maybe start another 200k behemoth on accident (note to self: please no i will die). or maybe i'll do a sick kick-flip into this burnout and skid all the way into a dope ass writing binge 😎 (or maybe I'll take a break like i probably should. sounds fake tho)
> 
> Love y'all for letting me ramble (you have no choice, my dear captive audience). Enjoy the fic, stay hydrated (but not too hydrated), PEACE!

He took a deep breath. The crisp smell of rain mixed with the smell of _Claude._ Opening his eyes, he caught Claude staring at his face. Those vibrant green eyes snapped shut, so relaxed that Dimitri nearly fell for his trick. Plenty of mornings began with Claude pretending to be asleep to steal a few extra minutes in bed. “Good morning, Claude. I know you’re awake.”

Claude hummed, languidly stretching before finally re-opening his eyes. “Mornin’. Sleep well?”

He _refused_ to blush. “I slept decently.” It was a middle-of-the-road dream. Not as innocent as his preferred dreams of chaste activities with Claude. But at least it wasn’t as explicit as his dreams occasionally got. Goddess _forbid,_ he was grateful he didn’t dream of Claude being _heavily pregnant_ again. He only had that dream once and he was _still_ ashamed. He wasn’t sure if that one was better or worse than the dreams where he took Claude, again and again and— 

_Bad thoughts! Bad thoughts!_

He cleared his throat. “Did you sleep well?” He tucked a stray curl behind Claude’s ear, indulging in a careful hair tussle. Claude’s sleepy eyes didn’t protest. He pressed his face into Claude’s hair, deeply inhaling. Gathering his willpower, he forced himself not to linger. “I suppose we should get up.”

“Noooo… I’m finally warm…” _Warm, sure._ Dimitri was _roasting._ Claude pouted at him, mimicking the sad eyes of his hungry kittens. Thick smudges under his emerald eyes caught his attention. 

“Did you sleep poorly?” Vague memories of Claude’s rough sleep returned to him.

“Nah, I slept great.” His sleepy eyes begged to differ. He looked slightly paler than usual, but perhaps Dimitri was mistaken. “Like a brick. A nice and _warm_ brick.”

“We march in 30, Claude,” the professor informed them.

“That means 25 minutes to sleep!”

He cleared his throat. “No Claude, that means it’s time to get up now. You can wrap a blanket around yourself if you’re cold.” He reached behind him to pull off the thick and warm blanket resting on top of them both. All at once, something occurred to him: against his back something radiated heat. In order to fit into his bedroll with Claude he was on his side, chest-to-chest with his handsome friend. He tried to roll onto his back and found there was something bracketing him from behind. His gloved fingers touched something warm, vaguely furry, and _definitely_ not a blanket. 

_Dear Goddess._ There was an _animal_ sleeping with them. A big one. Dimitri could only stare wide-eyed at Claude as he patted the animal further. A _deer?_ No, it was too big. A _moose?_ Judging by the weight on his legs and shoulders, the moose had slung its legs over top of them, and if his hunch was right, another leg was slid under their pillow. He finally drug his eyes away from Claude, turning around to confirm their warm visitor. A noise punched out of his throat. The deer blinked at him, not caring about his _utter bafflement._

“Oh. I’m still dreaming. Goddess. What a strange dream.” _A nightmare._

“He’s just a deer. Ignore whatever superstitious nonsense you’ve heard.” Claude wiggled a bit and freed an arm, patting the deer’s shoulder. “He’s just a big friendly deer. Who happens to be white.” The White Hart leaned into Claude’s touch. For a deer, it was _massive._ It was the size of a _moose._

He turned to the rest of the camp. The other Golden Deer were carrying about their business as usual. His eye caught on Sylvain, fumbling to help Hilda with something. Sylvain kept darting glances at them, face pale as snow. Gilbert was across the camp, even paler than Sylvain.

“Claude! Get up, lazybones! Snuggle with deer on your own time!”

Claude groaned. “Hey, it’s not like I asked for this! Toss me my pants and jacket, there’s no way I’m freezing my ass off. And a waterskin. I’m dying of thirst.”

Claude and Lorenz got into an argument about clothes or something. Dimitri was too busy gaping at the White Hart. His heart was trying to beat itself out of his chest. _The White Hart, messenger of the afterlife. Why? How?_ It was here to punish him. That _had_ to be the answer. The White Hart was here to punish him for ignoring the calls of the dead.

He flinched his hand away from the deer as soon as he realized he was still touching it. _Touching it._ He was _touching_ the White Hart. He was touching the uncatchable specter of nature’s cycle. The legendary being that made or ruined kings and kingdoms. The signifier of great change to come. The heralder of natural order being broken. White as snow and bone.

“Goddess protect us…” he whispered. It was impossible to catch the White Hart. To chase after the White Hart was to lead a fool into the realm of death itself, never to return. There were no stories about what it meant to _touch_ the White Hart. And it was _laying on them._

“Yeah, he sure is a looker. Best of all, he’s _so_ warm.” _Of course that was Claude’s priority._ Claude wiggled again, straining to squeeze himself a bit out of the bedroll. He wasn’t very successful.

“What are you doing?” Dimitri heard himself ask, shockingly calm given the situation. Not a tinge of his internal screaming bled into his voice.

“Just… trying to… ugh.” Claude gave up having barely wiggled an inch out of the bedroll. “C’mere you.” With his one free arm, he made grabby-hands at the White Hart. The mythical entity responded, lowering its head to nuzzle Claude. Given Dimitri was between the two, the White Hart more or less fully laid on top of him.

“Claude, you’re supposed to be getting _up,_ not getting more comfortable,” Lorenz snapped.

“Can I sleep in too?” Hilda whined. “This isn’t fair at all!”

“Not my fault I’m stuck,” Claude stated, satisfied as he cuddled up to the deer (with Dimitri sandwiched in the middle). His beaming smile was blinding. “Unless one of you wanna help me out?”

The Golden Deer all fell silent. Lorenz cleared his throat. “Surely you can convince the deer to let you go. It’s not our place to… interfere.”

Hilda groaned and rested her head in her hands. “Remember when he got stuck under a wyvern? He can’t convince a kitten to get off his chest.”

“Hey! That’s not true!” Claude boldly lied. 

“Claude?” Dimitri whispered, an insane thought occurred to him. “Did you call for the White Hart because you were _cold?”_

Claude raised an eyebrow. “Call for? No, I was sleeping. This guy just likes to show up sometimes. I’ve got no say in it.” 

“25 minutes, Claude.”

“But Teeeach!” Claude rubbed his cheek up and down the White Hart’s fur. “I’m stuck! This isn’t _my_ fault!”

They raised a single eyebrow. “I don’t care. Dimitri. Please free yourself and Claude.”

“Uh.” His eyes darted between Claude’s pout and the White Hart’s eerie stare. “I can’t.” He was damned already. What did this mean? Was it possible to be double-damned? If he accidentally harmed the White Hart, would he be triple-damned? What if Claude was damned because of him?

“Yeah Teach, he can’t!”

“Claude, can I pet him too?” Cyril asked, slowly approaching them.

“Sure. Comparing him to your special Golden Deer?” Claude asked, directing Cyril on the best spot to pet the White Hart. By ‘special Golden Deer’, he assumed Claude was referring to Lysithea (who Cyril clearly harbored a crush for and shared white hair). After all, Claude was _his_ special Golden Deer.

“He’s really soft,” Cyril commented, cocking his head as he slowly stroked down the White Hart’s back. “Abnormally clean for a deer. Y’think he can understand speech?”

Claude snorted. “Obviously he can’t. Watch. Hey deer, please get off of me.” The White Hart blinked, responding by nosing at Claude’s hair and giving him a probing lick. “No! Stop that!”

He moved to defend Claude, pushing the deer’s snout away. The moment he acted his mind began screaming. What was he _doing?!_ It was _The_ White Hart. And he just _shoved_ it. 

“See? No manners with this one.” Despite his grumbles, Claude returned to petting the Hart’s face. 

“Ooo, can I pet the stag too?” Raphael boomed.

In short order the more brave (and lacking in self-preservation) members of Claude’s class were all petting the deer (that was _still_ laying mostly on top of him and snuggling Claude). Marianne was next, smiling in what Dimitri assumed to be a rare occurrence. Flayn eagerly joined in. Lysithea cautiously approached, petting the deer like it would bite her. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted Ignatz furiously sketching in a book. 

“15 minutes, Claude. If you delay us, that’s a month of weed duty.”

Claude buried his face into the deer and groaned. “But Teach, I _can’t!_ Look!” Claude tried to wiggle a bit. Given he was still stuck in the bedroll with Dimitri, he didn’t go anywhere. Worse, the White Hart shifted forward, putting a bit more weight on Dimitri as it wrapped its forehoof further around Claude, tucking him just a little closer.

“Tough.”

“Dimitri?” Claude asked, facing him. He wiggled again, those sinful legs—“Mind lending a hand?”

“Are you sick, Prince Dimitri?” Lysithea asked, peering closely at him. “You’re awfully pale. Don’t tell me you went and got yourself sick with that stunt yesterday.”

“I am well. Is this a frequent occurrence?” he asked, a little desperate. 

“The White Stag?” Leonie asked from a few paces away. “This is the second time. Odd, isn’t it.”

_“Odd.”_ Sylvain croaked. “That’s a word for it. _Odd.”_

Leonie shrugged. “You learn to take it in stride after a bit. Nothing will surprise me anymore after that stunt a few days ago.” She paused. “Last week? Whenever that was.”

“The incident that didn’t happen,” Claude muttered under his breath. Louder, he groaned. “For the last time, he’s just a deer. Not _magic._ Cyril, you’re the expert on magic deer. What’s your take?”

Cyril flinched. “I’m no expert. I dunno! He’s real docile though. Bigger than he’s supposed to be I think. Maybe he’s magic?”

“10 minutes, Claude.”

“Gah! Marianne, help a fella out!” Claude struggled more as the White Hart seemed _very_ intent on trapping them both. As well as licking Claude’s hair. As endearing as it was to watch Claude guard his hair from a deer, the fact that it was the _White Hart_ just confused him.

“O-oh, um. I can try… m-mister deer, um…”

Somehow Marianne coaxed the White Hart off of them. With one final lick to Claude, it got up and vanished into the downpour. Claude burst out of the bedroll. “Freedom!” Then, upon remembering his lack of pants, he zipped back into the sleeping bag. “Never mind! Freedom isn’t all it’s made out to be! Seriously, someone toss me my pants!”

In a daze, Dimitri pulled himself out of the bedroll and retrieved Claude’s clothes. Upon delivering them, Dimitri sat himself on the log in front of the fire and stared into it. _The White Hart._

“Are you uninjured, Your Highness?” Gustave whispered from behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Of course.” Gustave’s hand squeezed. “Perhaps in a touch of shock.”

“You know what the old stories say,” Gustave whispered even quieter now. “Your Highness, you cannot court the young von Riegan. The White Hart only appears when an unspoken law is broken. Consider your country, your bloodline—”

He stood up. “That is not the only reason,” he hissed back to the old knight. The White Hart _also_ appeared when the veil to the afterlife was thinnest, so the stories said. “I will hear _no more_ on this topic. If you will now excuse me, _Sir Gilbert.”_ He snatched up his cloak, still left by the fire. Returning to Claude (now dressed), he offered it. 

“I’ve got my own.” Claude pointed to the flimsy cloak he was already wearing. “It’s still raining, you need that too.”

“You need it more than I. My tunic is warm and rain resistant as well. I thrive in weather far colder than this.” He pointed to Claude’s pathetic cloak. “You expect _that_ to keep you warm? _You?”_ He again tried to hand his cloak to Claude.

“Feeling some judgment here. I’m not going to melt in the rain. Or freeze.” Despite his (obviously false) claims, Claude hungrily eyed the cloak. “I don’t need it.”

“You’re shivering. _Take it.”_

Claude cocked an eyebrow, smirking. “Gonna _make_ me?” If Claude wasn’t shivering, the arrogant, teasing expression might have achieved its intended effect. Instead Claude just looked cute (he always looked cute).

“I will if you insist. Stop being a brat and take it already.” Ideas of what _making_ Claude take his cloak entailed flashed through his mind. He swallowed hard and prayed he wasn’t blushing. “I gave it to you yesterday. It’s yours.” Without further warning he snapped it around Claude’s neck. _He was so adorable when he pouted…_

Claude didn’t have long to squabble, given the limited time to be packed for marching. “Oh _very well._ If you insist, Oh Generous Prince. If I _must.”_ Despite his pretense at rejecting the cloak, Claude eagerly wrapped it around himself. “Gods, you Faerghans know how to make the best cloaks. I might just have to steal this from you more often. Need one of these myself…” Claude winked and smirked the way he did when he was ‘subtly’ asking for something.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I _gave_ it to you. It’s yours. Permanently. I would be terribly offended if you rejected it.”

His green doe eyes fluttered in surprise. “Oh? And what do I owe in payment for such a fine gift?”

_“Payment?”_ he snapped, earning a flinch from Claude. “A-ah, apologies. You obviously don’t owe me anything! Don’t even joke about such a thing.” He crossed his arms. “I would hope you don’t think so poorly of me that I would give you something and seek _payment_ for it. It’s a gift!”

Claude smiled and shrugged, scratching the back of his neck. His shoulders rose a fraction in the way they did when Claude was either embarrassed, nervous, or uncertain. Before he could backtrack whatever upset his dear friend, Claude winked and talked over him. “Of course, I guess that was a distasteful joke. I certainly appreciate your thoughtful gift, Your Princeliness. Trust me, I’ll put it to good use.” In an instant Claude withdrew and began checking in with his classmates.

His chest sparked with fire watching Claude flitter around the campsite, giving a last-minute checkup on his classmates as he chugged down a waterskin. Claude, wearing _Dimitri’s_ cloak. That Dimitri _gave_ him. Though heavy, when Claude raised his arms, the Blaiddyd blue inside was visible. Winter could _not_ come soon enough. He needed to witness Claude wearing his cloak as often as possible.

“You sure about this, Your Highness?” Sylvain subtly asked, still a bit pale. “I’ve got your back. Still, that White Hart…” 

Dimitri nodded. “I’m certain. Perhaps Claude is correct and it was merely a large white deer of no magical origins.”

“You don’t believe that.”

He shrugged. “Regardless, my path will not change.” Lowering his voice, ensuring Claude was not looking at him, he whispered. “I will defy fate itself for him if I must.” For as long as Claude would have him, it was the least he could give in return.

“Given how bold your most recent gesture was, that’s plenty obvious. You do realize he doesn’t have a clue what it means, right?”

“Clearly.” He nodded to the other Golden Deer. “But neither do they.”

“Guess they do courting differently in Leicester. Makes sense. No royalty to royally give away their cloaks. You’re serious about pursuing this all the way.”

_“Sylvain.”_

“Easy. Not doubting your love. It’s going to be rough though. People aren’t going to like it on either side of the fence.”

“People can think what they want. I am their king. It is _my_ choice and only mine.” Distantly, the echoes of his father muttered disapproval and scorn.

“You’re going to need all the help you can get.” Sylvain winked. “I’ll be with you every step of the way, Your Highness.”

“Sylvain…” Despite the grim day ahead of them, his lips curled upward. “Thank you.”

“That _said,_ you might wanna start _dating_ the guy first. Every Faerghan student is going to _know_ what it means watching Claude swan around wearing your cloak.” Claude sneezed. After a violent shiver, he bundled himself up in the cloak, scrunching his shoulders and burying the lower half of his face in the fur lining. “Given how much he likes it, people will _definitely_ know.”

“Good. They’ll know he’s _mine.”_

“Again, you should make sure Claude’s aware that he’s flaunting around an engagement cloak. Through _you,_ not through the rumor mill.”

His shoulders fell. “Ah. Yes, I suppose you’re correct. I’ll… work on that.” If Dimitri were anyone else, giving away a cloak wouldn’t have any deeper connotations. It was a well known tradition in the Blaiddyd family to give one’s cloak as an engagement. Faerghan tradition typically involved carving a wooden spoon to give as an engagement gift. Given the natural Blaiddyd strength, such tradition was not feasible. Thus; a cloak. It had been that way since the days of the original elite Blaiddyd.

Sylvain patted him, then pushed him in Claude’s direction. 

He still wasn’t sure what to think about the White Hart. Was it because of his connection to the afterlife? Was that why he could never hear ghosts while around Claude? Or was it summoned on Claude’s end? Perhaps Dimitri was breaking some divine law by courting a demigod (or whatever manner of mystic entity Claude truly was). Regardless, it didn’t matter. He would rail against the sky itself if that was what it took.

“Hey, you got any extra water?” Claude asked, sliding up against his shoulder the same way a cat might rub up against its favorite human. “I’ve had the _worst_ case of dry mouth these past couple mornings.”

“It’s yours.” He passed off his waterskin without a second thought. He wasn’t thirsty in the slightest.

“Thanks! Here, have an apple. Raphael and Ignatz collected a whole bushel.” Claude pressed the little crab apple into his hands. He decided to skip Claude pestering him to eat and just ate the tasteless thing for once.

“Claude, that was for you!” Lysithea shouted from across the camp. “Stop trying to skip breakfast!”

Claude pulled the waterskin from his lips just in time to catch the apple that would have struck his face. Hilda’s throw was deceptively strong. “Nagging people doesn’t make you look mature!” Looking down at the fruit, his expression scrunched. “You want another apple?”

“One was more than sufficient. You need to eat as well.” If Claude was going to fuss over him, he would fuss right back.

“I’m not hungry.” Claude’s stomach took that moment and disagreed, rumbling loudly. 

“Sometimes you must eat even when you don’t feel like it in order to have energy to face the day.”

“That’s a hypocritical statement if I’ve ever heard one.”

“That’s because I’m quoting Dedue.” He carefully tucked Claude’s chin between his thumb and finger, tilting his face up. “Are you feeling well? It’s not like you to avoid food. Would you like me to take the first bite?”

“I’m fine.” Claude grinned, raising a single eyebrow. “You’re really not letting this go.”

“You’ll feel better if you eat. An apple is nice and simple, if—”

“That’s enough.” Claude brought the apple up to his lips. He paused, eyes flickering down to the fruit. Then he bit into it, chewing and swallowing in one go. He blanched, face adorably scrunching. 

“Sour?”

“It doesn’t taste right.” He took the waterskin and drained half of it in one go. “Blegh. Did your apple taste this bad?”

He shrugged. “It tasted as I expected it to.” Like ash.

“Hilda!” Claude called her over. “Take a bite of this. Mine tastes funny.”

“Uh, _no._ Swear to Goddess, if you get poisoned eating something you shouldn’t _again,_ I’m never letting you live this down.”

He shoved the apple at her. “You’re the one who gave it to me so take responsibility. Just a bite.”

Hilda rolled her eyes. “You’re such a piece of work sometimes.” She took a tiny bite as far from Claude’s bite mark as possible. “It tastes fine. Sweeter than the sour one _I_ got, so stop complaining.”

Claude glared down at the little apple. “Claude, are you—”

“I’m fine,” he snapped through a mouthful of apple, chewing with prejudice. “This tastes awful.”

“It’s a crab apple, of course it’s not up to your noble standards,” Leonie called out.

“There. I ate it. Happy?” He threw the apple core at the ground hard, draining the rest of the waterskin. 

“Would you like ano—”

_“No!”_ Claude’s eyes flew wide, flinching backwards as his lips twisted in unmistakable fear. “No more, I’m not hungry!”

Dimitri flinched away as well. Claude _never_ displayed open fear during daylight. Everyone around the camp froze.

Claude snapped back to himself, cringing and looking away. “Sorry. I’m fine. Never mind that. Is everyone all packed for the march?” Claude looked everywhere that wasn’t at another person. He took two steps, stumbled, then crumpled to the ground vomiting.

Dimitri was by his side in an instant, steadying his friend as apple pulp and stomach bile came up. Strangely, it wasn’t as watery as he expected from someone who just drank two waterskins. “You didn’t say you were nauseous. What’s wrong?” He focused on _carefully_ rubbing Claude’s back. He refused to accidentally hurt Claude with his inattentive strength.

“Oh hell, he’s sick. Now what do we do?”

“I’m fine,” Claude rasped, spitting up one last glob of saliva. The smudges under his eyes were especially egregious now and he was _definitely_ paler than usual. “Apple went down bad. That’s all. Knew something wasn’t right with it.”

Marianne and Flayn crowded Claude. He was probably in their way but he refused to let go of Claude as his dear friend continued to shake. “No fever. I cannot detect any sickness, nor any poison.”

“M-me neither. H-he seems h-healthy.”

“I’ll be fine in, like, an hour. I was nauseous yesterday too, it went away quickly.”

“And you said nothing?” the professor thundered.

“I don’t get sick. Ever. We’re still a good few hours away from the tower. I’ll be fine by then. I’m fine _now.”_ Trying to prove his point, Claude stood up on visibly shaking legs. 

“Dimitri. You’ll carry Claude. If he isn’t well by the time we get to the tower, you two will set up shelter outside and wait. If he is well enough, you two will be backlines. I’d rather not split our group with the threat of patrolling bandits in the area. Claude, I don’t want to see you anywhere near the front.”

“I can walk,” Claude grumbled. Dimitri had to steady him as he swayed. His eyelids fluttered. “Ngh. Fine. This means nothing.”

His and Claude’s packs were distributed to Raphael and Sylvain. On his back Claude went. Claude slumped forward, limply resting a cheek on his shoulder. His breathing came in labored heaves, body shuddering all over. He (gently, gently, always gently) squeezed Claude’s thighs in his own silent _‘I’m here’._ With every moment that passed, Claude seemed to grow weaker and sicker. “Check him again,” he snapped to Flayn. “Something’s wrong!”

Claude groaned, twitching his head. “E-everything’s fine… Don’t worry about me…” With one last gasp of air, Claude went fully limp. For a heart stopping moment his mind conjured images of Claude dying in his arms. A weak puff of air brushed across his neck. His legs nearly gave out from the sudden relief. He closed his eyes and rested his cheek on Claude’s hair. _He fell asleep. That’s all._

After having Claude checked over for a third time, both Marianne and Flayn declared Claude in peak health. At most he was slightly fatigued and dehydrated (which made no sense, given how much water he drank). Reluctantly, the class began their march. 

The professor and Sylvain began discussing nearby villages in case Claude needed to be rushed somewhere safe for better healing. They continued to run into the same issue: any number of nearby villages might have faced Miklan’s wrath. No further time could be spared in bringing Miklan to justice. The renegade Gautier _had_ to be stopped. The amount of destruction he achieved in a short month was horrific. Yet Claude was unwell. If he continued to grow sicker, what then? His duty as a prince was to his people first. _But Claude…_

He dug his fingers into the fabric of Claude’s pants. His heart feared the true cause of Claude’s sudden sickness. _The White Hart._ What else could the cause be? A supernatural sickness of the afterlife as a punishment for Dimitri’s mortal hubris. _Dear Goddess, please don’t take him from me. Please, please, I can’t lose him too…_

Rain poured steadily onto their band. Claude’s cloak covered both of them thoroughly. He nearly panicked when he felt water on his neck until he realized Claude was just drooling. Perhaps it was just the warm air from Claude’s frosty breath, but his neck tingled. _Cute._

His mind wandered. He couldn’t help it. Claude’s body was pressed up against his back. Those dreamy legs he was subjected to last night were held in his hands, begging to be squeezed and touched. As bad as it was for Claude to be sick, his chest was warm at being able to help his dear friend. If only he was carrying Claude in his arms. Then he’d be able to see his adorable face, plant a kiss to his cheek, steal a kiss in his sleep…

_Everything’s fine…_

He nearly tripped over his own feet. What in the Eternal Flames was he _thinking?!_ Claude was sick! That was _bad!_ Yet his cheeks steadily burned hotter as intrusive thought after intrusive thought smothered his dread, both for Claude and for the upcoming battle. If he didn’t focus, Miklan could get away. Or a fellow student could die. Or…

All that was missing was Noodle. He wondered how she was doing under Dedue’s care. She would be so happy to see them when they returned. Perhaps he would have her wait though. Perhaps he would spend some time with Claude first. Alone. Kissing him senseless, lavishing him with all the affection he desired, to make love—

If his hands weren’t holding Claude’s legs, he would have buried his face in them. What was _wrong_ with him? They were marching to kill Sylvain’s brother! _Claude might be dying!_ The rest of the students… were… laughing? There was no undercurrent of dread like before. Despite the rain, everyone was in high spirits. Jokes and stories bounced back and forth. Even Sylvain _genuinely_ seemed to be in a good mood. Goddess, when was the last time he witnessed a _genuine_ smile from Sylvain? He’d forgotten that Sylvain snorted when laughing at something he found genuinely hilarious. 

Despite the downpour, it was sunny and bright. Muscles he didn’t notice were tight loosened. Perhaps it was merely Claude’s scent (which never failed to give him comfort) but he felt light. Wisps of Claude’s misty breath curled around his neck before fading into the rain. The world shimmered with possibility and optimism. With Claude against his back, he’d never felt so at peace. He took a moment to close his eyes and let everyone’s happy chatter wash over him.

_Everything’s fine…_

Claude groaned, twisting his fingers weakly into his tunic. If he collected Claude in his arms, he could kiss away the nightmare. He could caress Claude’s hair. He could take off his gloves — Goddess, how he desperately wanted to do so — and feel Claude’s fluffy curls between his bare fingers. 

_“Dima, not my hair,”_ Claude would whine, pouting adorably. He wouldn’t mean it. _“You make me feel so safe. Don’t worry about me. Kiss me. Touch me. Don’t worry about me. I want you, please!”_

_“Of course, my kitten. Anything for you.”_ He would lean down and kiss the air from Claude’s lungs. _“Do you know what my cloak means?”_ Claude would shyly shake his head. _“It means I will make you mine. And you accepted it. You accepted me. I’ll have you as my husband. Or would you prefer I call you my queen?”_

_“Yes,”_ Claude would gasp, lips red and puffy. _“I want that more than anything. I want to be with you forever. Everything’s fine. Everything's fine. Don't worry about me.”_

At this point, he would bury his face against Claude. Not to kiss or bite marks — not yet — but simply to connect with his beloved. Claude would nuzzle into his neck. He would gently caress Claude’s hair, savoring the feeling. Claude would be eased back into sleep. There was endless time for passion later. He wanted to take his time with his beloved, savoring every aspect of him. He…

Claude’s head turned as he mumbled a wheezy sound, breaking him out of his daydream. He groaned. _What was he doing?!_ Claude was sick and here he was _fantasizing_ about him! And how dare the rest of the Golden Deer act so cheerful when Claude was unwell!

“We’re breaking here,” the professor stated, pointing to a nearby cave. “Lunch, then the final hour of our march.”

Odd. Time seemed to pass by so quickly.

They settled into the dry space. It was a nicely lit cave with a great open view of the outside. Downright cozy. Dimitri carefully took Claude from his back. “Claude,” he softly called with a smile, gently shaking his dearest friend. “Time to wake up.”

Claude stirred, eyes scrunching together. A flash of light, followed by a _boom_ nearly shocked him into squeezing Claude’s arms. The thunder had Claude jerking upright. Blinking as he adjusted from the flash of lightning, Claude slowly looked around the cave. Green eyes squinted at him. “Huh…?” 

He squinted back down at Claude. For some reason, the cave seemed so much darker than moments ago. “How are you feeling? I have food if you think you can stomach it.”

“Water,” Claude rasped, sounding worse than earlier. With a shaking hand Claude gripped at his head, groaning. Familiar dread slammed into his body. Claude was unwell. _Claude was unwell,_ and he just spent the past few hours in a happy daze _daydreaming_ about him! Goddess, what was _wrong_ with him?! He pulled out his waterskin and handed it to Claude. (How was it full again…? Ah, right. They stopped at a river and refilled their supply. How did he forget that…?) 

“Food? Urgh, no fruit.”

Dimitri pulled out his rations. “I know they don’t taste great, but—”

Claude latched onto the food and devoured it all. Everything but the dried berries. A few of Claude’s classmates asked how he was feeling only to be ignored as Claude single mindedly focused on eating. Perhaps it was something about the dark cave, but the earlier cheerful chatter was dead. Pre-mission dread was back in full force. 

“Flayn, hey, how do you feel?” Raphael’s whisper carried in the silence. The big Golden Deer gently shook his sleeping classmate. _Flayn too?_ Odd. How did he miss Flayn passing out…?

Flayn smacked her lips and opened her eyes. “Mm?” She sleepily blinked, scanning her eyes around the cave. “Oh. Oh dear!” She bolted upright. “Drat! My deepest apologies!”

“No problem! Now you’re all rested for the upcoming battle!”

Ignatz cleared his throat. “Was that one of your typical lapses Flayn, or are you feeling unwell?”

The young girl hunched her shoulders, cheeks turning pink. “Merely a usual bout of sleepiness. Again, I apologize. I will not fall asleep in battle, I swear it!”

Lysithea snorted. “Falling asleep in a lecture or on the road is one thing. Falling asleep in the middle of a fight is ridiculous.”

“U-um, how do you feel Claude?” Marianne quietly asked, causing him to flinch at how close she was. “S-sorry!”

Claude sat up in one smooth motion, stretching out and yawning. “Wow! I needed that nap. I feel like a new man! How close are we?” He jumped to his feet, not a single lingering sign of sickness. “Guess I just needed a good meal in my stomach and some extra sleep, hah.”

Leonie shoved Claude, humming in satisfaction when he didn’t stumble. “Fall asleep like that again and we’ll have to give Flayn’s title of sudden-nap-queen to you. You had us worried!”

Claude clasped his chest with an exaggerated gasp. “Leonie, you can’t just dethrone Flayn like that!”

“No, it is fine! I have no desire to be the sudden-nap-queen. You may have my title, Claude.”

“Nah. I abdicate that to Cyril.”

“Hey! What’s that supposed to mean!”

“You once fell asleep _inside_ a bookshelf.”

“It was empty and I was usin’ my free-time wisely! Didn’t have time to go to my room when I needed to get up in a bit! It’s called being ee-fish-ant!”

“Efficient,” Lysithea corrected.

“Yeah, that!”

“Now I am craving fish…” Flayn mumbled. The Golden Deer launched into some convoluted conversation about fish, bookshelves, nap-spots, and whatever else. Claude tried to collect his backpack from Raphael, who refused to return it (but did allow him to reach into his bag and collect something). Claude bounced back over to him and plopped it in his hands.

“Oh. These are your rations. Save them for yourself.”

“Pff. You gave me yours, it’s only fair I make sure you don’t go hungry too.” Claude paused to pull out his own waterskin, chugging about half of it in one go. After letting out a satisfied sigh, Claude bumped against his shoulder and slotted a thigh beside his. “Want me to feed you?” Claude pressed further against him, oozing into his space inch by inch.

“No, no thank you, I can feed myself!” He chuckled weakly, willing himself not to blush at the idea. He began eating to prove his point. “You’ve been drinking a lot of fluids recently.” _Yet Flayn and Marianne said he was dehydrated earlier…_

Claude shrugged. “Dry mouth.” Wrapping his free arm around Dimitri’s shoulder, Claude knocked their heads together. Then crossed his ankles over Dimitri’s. Then— 

Claude crawled into his lap. The hardtack between his fingers crunched in half. Claude didn’t seem to notice his sudden stiffness as he curled up slightly to tuck his head under Dimitri’s chin. Claude tugged on one of his arms, guiding him in his dumbstruck state to wrap his arm around Claude’s shoulder. Claude pressed against him, as if trying to squeeze himself as close as physically possible.

“A-ah, Claude?” he whispered, aware of every single eye staring at them. “Are you feeling well?” The Golden Deer (and Sylvain) varied between snickering, eye rolls, politely ignoring them, or sighing very loudly. Money exchanged hands. Gustave looked ready to burst a blood vessel.

“Oh yeah. Ready for action. Raring to go.” Claude pawed at the hand holding his lunch, stealing the food back. “Go on, open up.”

Face on fire, he did as Claude bid him and let his unfairly attractive friend feed him. Hands now free from the obligation of eating, he submitted to the real motive behind Claude’s behavior and snugly wrapped his arms around Claude. Claude eagerly responded, wiggling as he found the perfect position that made him feel safest. Despite his easy grin face and languid body posture, Dimitri recognized the needy behavior. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” he whispered between bites of food, knowing Claude wouldn’t want anyone to overhear. Claude _clearly_ had a nightmare. For someone usually so subtle, his behavior _screamed_ that he wanted comfort. And with how fitfully Claude slept… _Why hadn’t he woken Claude…?_

Claude shrugged, jamming an extra large bite into his mouth. Probably to shut him up. “Just a weird dream. That’s all.”

* * *

_He hears it._

_It is a groaning, aching creak. It is more than a trickle, less than a deluge. The water is endless as it pours. It is at his ankles. He knows it is rising. He is racing,_ splash, splash, **splash.** _The dam — for all it looks alien and unlike anything else, it must be a dam — continues to groan. It extends above his head endlessly, waning and waxing into the heavens. It touches the stars, surface emblazoned with golden suns and scorched ebon moons. It is a giant. He is a spec. The water is at his ankles. If he doesn’t solve this soon, he will drown._

_He fits his hands over the crack. The black laceration extends upwards far taller than he is. It is only at the base that it leaks. But that may change. If he can’t do this, it_ will _change. He smooths his hands over the wound. It is a very, very old wound. Nearly as old as the dam itself. It has never bled before. It has throbbed, and burned, and leaked, and wept — but never_ bled. _It pulses, hot and angry, cold and vengeful. The lesion is deep, deeper than the dam itself seems to be. It is rotten and smells of pus. The dam gives softly against the press of his hands, sinking ever so slightly like starved skin spread over bone. The lesion will not close._

_It is not water at his ankles. He knows this. Whatever it is, it is not water. It is not water. He cannot drink it. It drinks him. Each hot shimmering drop that touches him — and there are many drops — surge inward. The liquid roars into his body. In through his ankles, up his legs, swelling through his body. It drains from his pores as steam, or fog, or frost, or maybe none of that. It hisses through his body and uses him as a vessel, evaporating to freedom._

_He heaves his back against the wound. He must stop the flow. It isn’t supposed to get past the dam. Nothing he does stops it. He has no choice but to keep trying. He is running out of time. His breath is haze, obscuring his sight as it continues to use him to escape. As it continues to use him up. The haze is thickening and it is getting hard to breathe._

_He slams his fist against the lesion. It squelches. The dam throbs, another giblet pebble shaking loose at the base. The liquid is rising. He wants to shout but his voice is stolen by steam. He reaches down to where the liquid is streaming from, his hands burning as it drinks into him. Feeling for a puncture, he cannot find anything. Only empty space where the dam is supposed to guard. The vapor spilling out of his skin is curdling into something thicker. It trickles out of him now, forcing itself past his skin in painful beads of not-sweat._

_It is so hard to breathe as his throat fills with liquid. He doesn’t know what this dam is, but it has always existed. Without it he will die. He will more than die. He will be crushed, pulverized from existence. The dam doesn’t care. It just_ **is.** _It is angry at him. It has been neglected. It has festered and the walls are rotting away._

_‘I didn’t know!’ he wants to yell. ‘I don’t know how to fix this! I’m sorry!’_

_The lesion pulses, oozing ichor to further rot the foundation. The soil beneath his feet is sinking. Melting. The dam doesn’t care. The dam is hurt and it is angry. The dam is all that stands between the mountainous wellspring of liquid and himself. Him and this ill dam. He is so, so small. And this problem is small too. For now. He is running out of time. Soon it will be too large for him._

_The sealed reservoir is frothing, and it is hungry, and he is all that exists to be devoured. It has been waiting for him for a very, very long time. It has been alone for so long. It is lonely, and its heart is pulsing with that rancid need. He was never supposed to be here. He doesn’t know how he knows this, or where ‘here’ is. There is a broken promise. He can feel it. An old oath that was broken mere days after its conception. The tide seeks payment. It seeks reparations for the damage it has accrued. He is the only payment available._

_‘I never asked for this!’ He pounds at the dam. ‘Stop! Do your job! Just stop the water!’_ **_He_ ** _never made any oath. The dam doesn’t care._

_All it took was that one moment of confusion for it to begin to crumble. It stood for years, and all it took was one action to begin the collapse. One moment was all it took to let go of something he didn’t know needed to be held. That moment is rumbling, roiling into a chain reaction that refuses to be stopped. All it took was one misstep off a path he never knew existed. All it took was letting go of the wrong thing._

_All it took was losing control for just a moment in time. The stitches were so weak and old that without his focus they snapped._

_And he does not know how to fix this. The water is at his knees, and he cannot breathe._

_He never asked for this. Neither did the dam._

_Thunder cracks and he has only a moment left to live._

“Claude?”

Eyes squeezed shut, he groaned. It took him a heartbeat to realize he was alive. Slowly a feeling of _something_ slotted back into place, his waking focus shutting off some sort of dripping valve. “Water.” His throat begged him for water. His body insisted he was wrung dry. He didn’t understand.

He drank and ate. _The mission._ He didn’t have time to mull over the dream. Feeling better, he forced a grin and got up. Whatever weird after effects those mushrooms still had on him, it could wait.

He didn’t give a damn what anyone thought as he crawled into Dimitri’s lap. They all knew about his giant crush on Dimitri (ugh) and that he was a cuddler _(ugh)._ He just needed it. He _needed_ Dimitri’s arms to ground him. He needed something, _anything,_ to ease the lonely wound bleeding in his chest. 

_Just a dream,_ he reminded himself. He couldn’t shake the trembling urgency that thrummed through his veins. _It can wait. It had to wait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything's fine. No need to worry about Claude. Everything's fine.
> 
> White deer: move me dimitri. see what happens. i double dog damn you.
> 
> Phobia unlocked: fructophobia, the fear of fruit! One more fear and Claude's phobia punch-card is valid to redeem one free (and mandatory) phobia.
> 
> GD, watching Claude practically crawl into Dimitri’s clothes: how the hell have those two not kissed??  
> Claude, feeding Dimitri in front of everyone’s salad: :3  
> GD: how the hell are those two _not together_?!
> 
> Lol idk why but I love the idea of GD(+Sylvain) watching Claude/Dimitri act hella lovey-dovey towards each other, *knowing* that they aren’t in an actual relationship yet. All empirical evidence points to them totally banging or at *least* routinely making out. But the GD *know* Claude hasn’t kissed Dimitri due to his tearful drunken breakdown while on mushrooms. And Sylvain *knows* Dimitri is *so goddamned pent up* bc they’re doing nothing but snuggles.  
> And Gilbert knows nothing and is absolutely dying.
> 
> A fun misspelling that I caught when i went back and edited:  
> “Are you uninsured, Your Highness?” Gustave asked.  
> Now I’ve got the white deer stuck in my head as an insurance mascot. 
> 
> Next week: Punching an abusive older brother in the face, repeatedly. Surely nothing will go wrong.  
> Everything is fine.


	33. In the Jaws of the Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> cw: mentions of past physical abuse. It's Miklan time, expect the expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently the universe (aka the trees) decided I wasn’t taking enough of a break and forced me to stop writing for a few days by cutting out the majority of my county’s power. Our tree overlords decreed no more power, only nature. By now most of the downed powerlines have been fixed (in my town at least). On the bright side, power has finally returned for me, huzza! Fingers crossed it stays on this time. It's been a hectic week... here's to hoping all of you out there are doing okay. Stay safe and stay warm.
> 
> Most of this chapter was already written so all I had to do was some minor editing, phew. Providing there are no further winter and/or tree shenanigans, weekly update for this fic should continue.

“Dimitri. I’m an  _ archer. _ You aren’t. Your natural habitat is the front lines. Mine is back or middle. You’ll be helpful anywhere that isn’t  _ hovering over me.” _

“I am merely following your professor’s orders. I am to be your adjunct for the battle.” Dimitri delivered the line impassively with just a hint of smugness leaking through. 

“Teach didn’t order you to hover.”

The prince shrugged. “I have received no orders to the contrary.”

It worked for a time. Thing was: Claude was great at dodging. Dimitri didn’t  _ have _ anything to defend him against. He never got close enough to an enemy for Dimitri to have anything to  _ do. _ The handful of arrows that came his way were easily side-stepped.

Since discovering the ruined village, Dimitri had an undercurrent of restlessness aimed at ending Miklan and his bandits. Claude’s ~~fit of vomiting and passing out~~ impromptu nap only made things worse. It was distracting to watch Dimitri grow more and more frustrated out of the corner of his eye. Teach stationed them to maintain the flank with Marianne though. There was nothing for Dimitri to do but watch and wait.

A glint caught his attention. He whirled, aiming his bow up. On the ramparts a sniper was aiming for Marianne. “Good try.” Curving his shot, it landed in a bullseye. Rather, in the bandit’s eye. “But not good enough. Victory is mine.”

“Th-thanks Claude.” Marianne paused, bending over and panting. “Sorry. I’m holding you up. I-I can keep going.” Scrunching her brow, she turned around and cast another psychic. Then she was back to panting. “Leonie and Sir Gilbert n-need backup at the stairwell, um, I think. They both keep getting hurt.”

“Sounds like a job for you.” He nodded to Dimitri. “Go on, you can catch up.”

The prince hesitated. Taking a deep breath, he nodded. “Be safe. I’ll return shortly.” With that, Dimitri turned his back and began jogging for the entrance.

“How are you holding up?” Marianne was forced to split her attention between the main group and Leonie and Gilbert. He only spared a glance at her sweat-soaked forehead before returning his attention to the upper ramparts. He wasn’t about to let any opportunistic sniper get a shot out.

“F-Flayn is a big help. I-it’s good she came. Without her, I don’t think…”

“Don’t put yourself down. You’re doing great.” Her panting slowed. “Caught your breath? We should—” turning around, he met Marianne’s wide eyes, the glint of the dagger at her throat, and the rogue grinning at him.

“Don’t move a muscle,” the rogue smoozed, more bandits slipping out from a false wall. In moments they were surrounded. “Drop your weapon and put your hands where I can see ‘em.”

His bow clattered to the floor, hands spread at chest-level, open palmed. “Guess we’re two hostages now.”  _ Providing the bandits were smart.  _ If they were smart, they wouldn’t slit Marianne’s throat. This was leverage. He just needed to bide his time. A dagger slid home right against his own neck. The tip poked under his chin. “Nice to meet everyone. How’s your day going?”

“Silence, brat.” The tip dug in a bit.

_ “Claude!” _

His eyes flew wide.  _ Dimitri. _ The prince noticed his capture. Time slowed to a crawl, the distant thunders of Dimitri racing closer tolling his doom. With Dimitri incoming, the bandits might not consider it worthwhile to keep them alive. Better to kill them now and deal with the oncoming threat. He met Marianne’s eyes for one brief moment. And winked. She better be prepared to heal him for this stunt. 

He jerked his chin downwards. The blade sunk into the soft underside of his chin, flooding blood into his mouth. In that exact moment he kicked backwards, twisting his neck to disarm the surprised rogue. With a bloody  _ slop _ the dagger fell out of his chin and onto the floor. He was already moving, his own dagger in his hands. He lunged forward, throwing his bodyweight at Marianne. Stabbing beside her, his weapon dug into the meat of the man holding her captive. He yanked her away, shoving her behind himself as he parried an incoming sword with his dagger. 

Warmth flooded through his face as Marianne healed his injury.  _ He knew he could count on her.  _ “Keep backing up!” he told her, dagger shaking as the bandit’s sword pressed down on him. “Run if you can!”

Her shoes skidded a few feet behind him.  _ Good. _ That was enough room. He went limp, rolling away from the blade as it sliced where his face just was. Another man nearly beheaded him with an axe. His dodge almost drove him into an oncoming lance. There were a lot of them and only one of him. Smirking, he twisted between two blades. Poor bandits didn’t know being outnumbered was his  _ element. _

It took precious, vital seconds to reach into his pocket and grab what he needed. His arm and cheek suffered nicks, followed by Marianne’s gentle healing sealing them all back up. Palming the small glass vial, he let himself be surrounded.  _ Smash _ went the glass as it hit the stone. The airtight seal had been a bitch to to make, but plenty of life-saving tricks were. In an instant a thick hissing exploded into blinding smoke as the powder reacted to air. His own eyes burned against the substance and he was  _ used _ to it. The bandits all shouted, a handful of weapons clattering as they covered their eyes. 

Tables turned, he went low. Somewhat hidden in the already-thinning smoke, he weaved and rolled and never stopped moving. In each bandit he found a weak spot in armor and clothes. Ankles, thighs, hips, knees — anywhere he found without protection made a friend in his dagger. All he needed was a tiny, tiny slice. Vish’s poison would take care of the rest.

The powder only lasted seconds. By the time he nicked a handful of men, it was already gone. Furious bandits with tears streaming down their faces now had him cornered, right in their midst. 

An axe came down. He dove to the side, darting right into a club to the face. Dazed, he scrambled backwards. Something sliced into his thigh. Blindly rolling, an arrow nicked his arm. Another weapon dug into his hip. He kicked out, right as that same club from before slammed into his foot. A thick arm curled around his  **neck not the neck!** Going limp he slid out of the hold, stabbing at someone’s legs and missing entirely. A boot crashed into his side. Sent sprawling over, his head struck the ground with a  _ thud _ that he heard as much as he felt. Rolling to the side, he barely missed his arm being sliced off his body by an enthusiastic axeman.

_ All he had to do was survive until Vish’s poison took care of them.  _ His dagger finally connected as he plunged it past someone’s boot. At that moment, lightning crashed through the tower, rendering him blind, deaf, and probably dying.

_ Or not. _ Blindly springing to his feet, he felt great. Despite the electricity buzzing through his limbs, despite how loud his blood thundered in his ears, he was better than fine. Squinting past the blinding light, he stumbled back to find a better position. As fast as the lightning struck, the light vanished. Taking advantage of a nearby stunned bandit, he snaked behind one and sliced their throat open.

That was when the first man took a knee, weapon falling from his fingers.  _ Wouldn’t be long. _ Vish’s venom worked fast. 

Sound returned to him in the form of Dimitri’s wordless roar. A recovering bandit beside him received a free head-removal as Dimitri’s spear splattered it into blood, bones, and brains. The spear kept going and landed in the gut of another rogue.

“Nice shot!” He called back, dancing away from a flagging swordsman. With a sweep of his foot, the swordsman crumpled to the ground and didn’t get back up. Another bandit dropped, then another. Dimitri burst onto the scene just in time for the last stragglers to notice their impending doom. Not having a lance didn’t deter the prince in the slightest. His hands snapped out, gripping a rogue’s face. One sickening crunch later and the rogue no longer had a face. Dimitri took the body and flung it at the rogue’s allies, scattering them like pins. None of them got back up.

The last remaining bandit tried to back away on shaking legs. Weapon falling from his fingers — either from poison or fear — his back hit the wall. Dimitri proceeded to slam the body  _ into _ the stone wall by at least a few inches.

Whistling, he couldn’t  _ not _ stare at the deep indentation in the  _ solid stone wall. _ Holy  _ shit, _ a damned wyvern would be hard pressed to match that. It was one thing to know Dimitri was strong with how easily the prince carried him or flipped wyverns, but  _ damn. _ As much as he abhorred senseless violence, he couldn’t  _ not _ be impressed by the display. Maybe it was just the Almyran in him but  _ fuck  _ Dimitri was impressive. He was also maybe slightly aroused. He  _ needed _ to witness more displays of strength like that from Dimitri on a daily basis. Schemes to get Dimitri to punch through a solid brick wall were already forming in his head.  _ Gods and Goddesses, _ now was not the time to drool over how strong Dimitri was. But _ fuck. _ He cleared his throat, willing himself to focus on the mission. “Hey now, leave some bravery for the rest of us. I had that handled.” Was it weird that he wanted to lick Dimitri’s abs? That was probably weird.

Dimitri was in front of him in an instant, bloodied gloves hovering inches from his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

_ ‘Your muscles are giving me brain damage,’ _ he didn’t say. He spat out some of the blood in his mouth from the chin-wound Marianne healed, wiping the outside blood off his chin. His breath came out as frost despite not feeling cold at all. “Perfectly healed.” Clearing his throat again, he forced himself to look away. “You okay, Mari?”

He glanced behind himself and winced. Marianne rubbed at her teary eyes, giving a shaking nod. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault you got hurt. I-if I had just paid more attention—”

“Not your fault, also not the time for this conversation. Are your eyes okay?” He tilted her chin to get a better look at her eyes. The whites were reddish but overall not bad. “Damn, I’m sorry. My bad, I misjudged the smoke radius. There’s no worry of any permanent damage, but let’s get you to Flayn regardless. Can you see?” On the bright side, the guilt crushed his Dimitri-induced temporary-insanity.

“I’m fine. I-it just stings a little. I’m so sorry I couldn’t heal you. I th-thought you weren’t going to survive…”

“Hah, survival is my element. Besides, you more than made up for it. That was some crazy spell you pulled off with the lights, nicely done!”

“U-um, that wasn’t me. I c-couldn’t focus on my spells. I saw, um, s-saw your…” She scrubbed at her eyes again and wrung her hands, head facing Dimitri for a brief moment. “M-maybe I shouldn’t say…” 

“If that wasn’t you, then what happened? Don’t lead me on only to leave me hanging!” He eyed the ceiling of the tower, not finding any gaps weirdly-rejuvenating lightning could strike through. An enemy mage, maybe?

“Y-your, um… i-in the blinding light, I saw your…” She trailed off again. In her silence, the din of fighting was louder than ever.

“Tell me later. Trust me, I’ll be asking. Dimitri, why are you still here? Leonie and Gilbert  _ still _ need your help.”

“Absolutely not. There could be more bandits waiting to ambush you at any corner. You need me.”

He swallowed his urge to bristle at Dimitri’s overprotectiveness. “You didn’t do anything but speed up the inevitable. I can take care of myself. Now go help Leonie and Gilbert. That’s an  _ order, _ Dimitri.”

The prince reared back like he was slapped. His jaw clenched. Technically he had authority over Dimitri for the duration of the mission. “Very well.”

“Claude! You okay?” Leonie called out, making him jump. Her and Gilbert rounded the corner.

Dimitri straightened, grinning like a lion. “It seems they no longer need any aid.” One of the bandits at his feet gurgled, weakly struggling. Dimitri, as if by instinct, slammed the butt of his lance against — no, through — the bandit’s face. “Goddess! I thought he was dead.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he hastened to say, tugging Dimitri away. “None of them will be getting up. And  _ that _ is why you should never underestimate an outsider.” No one needed to know the details of his poison.

From there the five of them raced to rejoin the others. He got (an oddly reluctant?) Dimitri to carry Marianne. They made it just in time to witness Sylvain and Miklan fighting one-on-one with each other.

“Why are we all standing around?!” Claude whisper-shouted, already nocking an arrow. “Sylvain’s on his own!”

Lorenz snatched his wrist. “Have you no honor? What am I saying, of course you don’t. This is between Sylvain and his brother. We aren’t to interfere unless Sylvain is wounded too heavily to continue.”

He gaped at Lorenz for a precious second.  _ “What?” _ Wheeling around, the rest of the class apparently agreed with Lorenz (or at least didn’t disagree enough to jump into the fight). Teach had their blade drawn and ready at a moment’s notice, but was doing  _ nothing. _ Even  _ Dimitri _ nodded, grimly eyeing the battle. “What is  _ wrong _ with all of you?!”

“Shut up and keep an eye on the fight,” Lysithea scolded him. “Sylvain requested this. How else is he supposed to find closure?”

“Any other way?  _ Literally _ anything other than being forced to  _ kill _ his own brother!” He yanked his wrist out of Lorenz’s hand and re-nocked his arrow.

“Hurry up and die already!” Miklan shouted, swinging out a  _ wicked _ looking lance at Sylvain. “If not for you… if you hadn’t been born…!”   


The flinch it drew from him was instinctual, arrow tumbling from his fingers. Those were familiar words.  _ “Your birth ruined everything, cowardly bastard! Get back here!” _

“Shut up!” Sylvain yelled, parrying the Lance of Ruin, forced to take a step back. “I’m so tired of hearing that! You’ve always blamed me for something that isn’t my fault.” His anger cost him. Sylvain was forced to brace his lance above his head as Miklan wielded the Lance of Ruin like an axe, bashing it again and again against Sylvain’s weapon. 

“Just die!” Sylvain fell to one knee as his brother continued his assault. No one was stepping up to help Sylvain.

_ “You must fight your own battles, Khalid,” baba said, hands hovering but remaining out of reach. “You  _ must. _ You cannot rely on anyone to help you.” _

_ “But Pejman’s too big!” His arms shook as he tried (and failed) to get back up. “Mazdak always helps him! It’s not fair! Why won’t anyone help  _ me?”  _ He reached out for baba’s hand. _

_ Baba pulled away. “I’m sorry son. You  _ must _ survive. I won’t always be here for you. You cannot afford to rely on me. Now pick yourself back up.” _

He nocked another arrow, aimed, and fired. Even before it landed he was nocking another, letting that one loose too. His first arrowhead nicked Miklan’s neck. The second sunk into a divot in his armor. If only he poisoned his arrowheads, the battle would already be over. But deadly poison was only as a last resort. 

Miklan whirled on him. “You  _ brat! _ You’ll regret that!”

_ “You brat! You’ll regret this!” Pejman bellowed, clawing at the sand in his eyes. “Mazdak, pin him down! I’m going to make the bastard regret being born!” _

_ “Don’t touch me!” It was pointless as he struggled. It always was. “Let me go!” _

He ducked under the sweep of energy blasted out from the lance. Another arrow left his hand, buried deep into Miklan’s shoulder. 

“It’s over!” Sylvain shouted, spear aimed in the perfect spot to impale Miklan. At the last moment, Sylvain swerved instead merely biting a deep slash into the bandit’s side. A fatal one nonetheless.

“You spoiled rotten brat!” Miklan pawed at his side, stumbling back. “I’ll kill you… I’ll kill… you…?”

The Lance of Ruin surged, black and red light spilling from it.  _ Oozing _ from it. Miklan’s shouts became screams as he was enveloped, consumed,  _ devoured.  _ Claude wasn’t the only one to backpedal. Miklan tore at the growing ichor bursting out of the lance, clawing at his face as that too was consumed.

From Miklan and the lance, a black creature  _ hatched. _

The beast roared, spewing black ichor from its mouth. “Did anyone else know relics can do that? Would’ve been great info to know ahead of time!” He nocked another arrow, forcing himself to stand his ground. The beast thrashed, clutching at its head. “Wonder if there’s anything left of him underneath. The best we can do for him is end this quickly.”

“Sylvain! Get back!” Dimitri shouted. The redhead stood stunned, unmoving in the beast’s path. 

Teach took command. “Raphael, Hilda, get that creature’s attention, lead it away from Sylvain. Leonie, Ignatz, look for a weak-point. Dimitri, get Sylvain’s attention, carry him away if you have to! Lysithea—”

They dispersed, taking up their positions. Once again he was backlines by the stairs, as far away from the beast as possible.  _ Suited him just fine. _ He fired an arrow at the creature only for his shot to ping off some sort of magical barrier. He had  _ so _ many questions. 

Something snapped the black beast out of its stupor. With a single tail slap, it sent Hilda skidding backwards. It barely paid Raphael any mind,  _ leaping _ over the burly man. Magic, arrows, and weapons barely slowed it as it raced for the exit.

The exit  _ he _ was at. He took two steps back before coming to the conclusion that he should  _ really _ start running if he didn’t want to be crushed. Loathed as he was to turn his back on the creature, he ran. Behind him the beast roared, echoing the sound of crumbling stone as it tore into the hallway. The thing was going to bring the whole tower down on them if it kept that up!

His frosty breath puffed out in hazy bursts as he sprinted for his life. He needed to get out of the hallways that were big-for-a-human and small-for-whatever-Miklan-was and into one of the smaller side halls. The beast was focused on getting out, which was its own host of issues. Issues that could wait, unlike  _ running for his life! _ He just had to make it to the side hall.

His head start was decent, but the thunderous pounding was getting closer. Just as the side hall came into view, he smelled and felt the noxious breath of the creature behind him. He leapt, diving into a roll into the smaller passageway. He stopped at a wall, planting his palms on it and catching his breath. Throwing back his head, he panted out a long sigh of sheer relief. “That was way too close.”

The beast rammed its head into the hallway, mere feet away from him. He stumbled back, cursing himself for letting his guard down. Its horn caught on the ceiling as it struggled to burrow closer. “The exit is that way! Nothing here for you!” The beast reared its head back and tried a new angle. Claude barely jumped back in time,  _ barely _ avoided his foot being eaten. He landed hard on his ass, scrambling to put more distance between them. Stone cracked as the beast forced its head in deeper.

The beast flinched, then howled. He slammed his hands over his ears. Black oozing ichor splattered all over him. The beast thrashed, clawing at the stone and dragging itself closer inch by inch. He pushed himself back to his feet, backstepping much faster than it could crawl.

Something darted out of the beast’s mouth. It stretched impossibly long, snaking around his ankle in an instant. He shouted as it pulled with deceptive strength, yanking his ankle towards its mouth. His back and head slammed into the stone, dazing him for a vital second. Before he knew it hot breath washed over him, the glow of its red eyes fixated on him. He kicked with his free foot, yanking with his trapped foot. The creature’s tongue curled around him further, overlapping itself as his leg was bound from ankle to knee. He pushed against the beast’s face(?) with hands and foot, not that the beast seemed to care. It effortlessly pulled his leg into its mouth and kept pulling.

“Stop! Let me go!” he shouted, knowing it was pointless. He pounded a fist against the metallic-looking plate with the Gautier crest. “Let me go!”

Red eyes flashed. The beast growled. He was close enough that he  _ felt _ the vibrations of the growl. It surged forward and in one quick motion completely pulled him into its mouth. He shouted as his back scraped one of the teeth, effortlessly slicing through his armor straight into his back. The beast’s saliva  _ burned. _

He punched at the roof of its mouth, ramming his heel into its tongue. It rumbled a growl around him, saliva oozing onto him. Miraculously the tongue let go of him. He aimed another kick at it, pushing himself away and towards the opening of the mouth. His fingers grasped one of the long, misshapen teeth. The monster’s mouth was ‘closed’ which didn’t mean much. The teeth were like an awkward cage with how misaligned they were. If the beast had clamped its mouth shut while pulling him in, it would have easily crushed him. At least that didn’t happen.

It was very hard to be optimistic in his situation.

Its tongue returned with a vengeance, squeezing around his waist this time. It trapped one of his arms by his side, twisting around him over and over. The tongue  _ definitely  _ had not been that long before. It bound his legs together, then back up and caught his other arm, binding him completely. Within moments, it didn’t matter how hard he struggled.  _ Shitty older brothers really were all the same. _ Minus the whole turning into a demonic beast tidbit.

The tip of the tongue traced his cheek. He shouted despite knowing no one was coming for him. How long until it smothered him? How long before it swallowed him? He thumped his forehead against the base of a tooth. It was the only movement he had control over. The beast began rumbling. The tip of the tongue traced around his face as it continued to growl without stopping. 

“Are you seriously  _ purring?!” _ he snapped, hysterical laughter bubbling from his lips. If anything, the purring got louder. The tip of the tongue traced his lips. Out of options, he bit into the gross appendage. Maybe some pain would shock it into spitting him o—

The tongue tightened. He screamed as his bones all creaked. Then he didn’t have air to scream at all. The beast began moving as it unwedged its head out of the wall. 

“—amnit, guess it isn’t dead!” He could hear Leonie. “What the hell is it doing?”

“Maybe it got tired?” Ignatz asked. “Should we attack it? Or will it go berserk again?”

“We have to kill him — it — one way or another,” Sylvain said.

“It’s almost docile,” Lysithea noted. “Is it possible Miklan is still aware?”

The beast shifted, giving him a second to view his classmates through the slits of the beast’s teeth. Apparently none of them could see him in the dark maw. He didn’t even have the breath to scream anymore. The beast’s head tilted down, tongue firmly keeping him in place. Everything went dark as the beast lifted a giant claw to block its mouth. 

It was moving again, slowly. Backing up, he assumed. 

“Claude?” he heard Dimitri’s faint call echo. Hope sparked in his chest. “Claude, where are you?” The voice grew quieter and more distant.  _ Dimitri thought he was in the hallway. _

“Hmph. He must have run away somewhere safe. I pity any troops he one day will lead.”

“Shut up Lorenz, you would have done the same in his place. He’ll regroup with us soon. He always comes back.”

“Yeah, that thing was barreling right for him. It…” Hilda’s voice trailed off. “Oh no. You guys don’t think…?” The voices were growing more distant.  _ Why _ were they letting the beast get away?! “Did it get Claude?!”

“You mean, what, eat him? Claude’s too slippery to allow that. Besides… animals don’t—”

_ “Uh, _ hello? That  _ thing _ is no animal!”

“Everyone? It’s backing away!” The beast froze. Then it burst into motion, claw falling away from its mouth. Light peeked between the teeth to display the sight of ground rushing past. “After it!”

With a lurch, the beast stopped dead. He soundlessly screamed with the beast as his eardrums rang. Crashes sounded from outside of the beast. His limited sight displayed the beast twisting its head, clawing at the Sword of the Creator curled around its leg.  _ Doesn’t feel so great now does it! _

“You’re not getting away!” Hilda shouted, approaching the beast’s feet and swinging her axe. “Hya!”

The beast used its head as a club, slamming into the ground and nearly smushing Hilda. His own head was knocked roughly against the blunt edge of a tooth. Hilda raised her axe above her head, preparing to swing down on the beast’s face. If she missed, she was going to hit  _ him! _

Pink eyes caught on him and flew wide. Her swing stuttered. The hesitation was just enough for the beast to sweep her away like a doll.

“Hilda!” Marianne screamed. Hilda took plenty of hits in any battle, but he’d never heard Marianne scream like that.

“Don’t let it get away!” Lysithea shouted. “It’s guarding its face, that must be a weak spot!” The mage made good on her words by throwing a blistering Miasma at the beast’s face. 

While he was busy screaming, he tried to focus on the positives. 1) The tongue around him loosened enough that he had the air to scream again. 2) Getting hit by Miasma was a new and interesting experience. He resolved to avoid it at all costs in the future. 3) Apparently he wasn’t dead yet. 4) An arrow pierced the beast’s mouth and  _ just _ barely missed him. Good on whoever had such poor aim.

“Stop! You’ll hit Claude!” Oh good, Hilda was well enough to shout. 

He freed his hands just in time to cover his ears as the beast roared. It threw its head upright and he suddenly came to the conclusion that not being held in its tongue had a downside: the mouth was slippery and gravity was dragging him towards the beast’s throat. His fingers failed to get a grip on the tongue as he slid down, his feet dangling into a pit that was the beast’s throat. 

The beast’s head thudded to the ground just in time, his waist in the beast’s throat. He scrambled to drag himself out but ran into two problems: the mouth was  _ still _ too slippery, and the beast’s throat muscles were contracting to drag him down further. 

A whine rumbled through his body. The beast laid its head on the ground and covered its mouth again. In the wet dark, struggling only seemed to suck him deeper down the beast’s throat faster. The throat was tight around his body — up to his shoulders now. His fingers grasped for the increasingly distant teeth. His shoulders too were squeezed down.

Light glistened. “Claude!” Golden light spilled over Dimitri as the prince forced the beast’s maw open. Sylvain and Raphael were on either side of him, pinning the beast’s claws to the ground. “Take my hand!”

He reached. His fingertips brushed Dimitri’s gauntlets. Grunting, Dimitri pushed himself further into the beast’s maw, palm within reach.

The beast swallowed and everything went dark.

He clawed at the throat, desperate to return to the light. The throat around him constricted, squeezing him deeper. 

Black and red swirled past him. Spots of light appeared as the tight squeeze around him loosened and vanished. He flopped onto hard, solid, non-slippery stone. He forced himself onto his hands and knees as he wildly looked side to side. The beast was gone.  _ Teleport? _

He yelped as something grabbed him. He pushed away, fighting for his life. Whatever force freed him, he  _ refused _ to be caught  _ again! _

“It’s me, you’re safe, I have you,” Dimitri murmured on repeat. As soon as his body registered that  _ Dimitri _ held him, he went limp.

“Is it dead?” he gasped out, catching his breath. Dimitri nodded, glancing to the side. Following the prince’s gaze he saw just a few feet away lay Miklan’s corpse and the pulsing Lance of Ruin. “He turned back? How the hell does that work?” He paused to gasp more air. “Oh hell. I have so many questions.”

“Are you injured?” Flayn asked, pulling his chin away from Dimitri’s shoulder.

“Am I injured? Uh,  _ yeah, _ I got  _ eaten. _ Thanks for noticing.” He threw back his head and laughed. “Wow! That was an experience!”

“Why are you laughing? You almost died,” Dimitri whispered.

“But I didn’t!  _ Whoo, _ what a rush!” His laughter was a touch hysterical.  _ He was alive! _ He thought he was doomed a couple of times. His fist shook as he lightly slugged Dimitri’s shoulder. “What’s with the frown? Loosen up, we won! You didn’t think I’d let myself die to  _ that, _ didja? Hah! It’ll take much more than a bitter brother with a fancy weapon to kill  _ me, _ and don’t you forget it!”

Dimitri’s lips turned upright as his eyes glistened. “Promise?”

“Aw, did you think I was about to abandon you and Noodle? Puh-lease. Not-dying is my specialty! Hah! I’ve got too many unanswered questions to die now!”

“That is very good Claude. May I please look at your back? You are bleeding, and I wish to uphold your record of not-dying.”  _ Oh right. _ Now that he wasn’t fighting for his life, his back was  _ screaming _ at him.

“You’re bleeding?!”

Flayn healed him up. Dimitri refused to let go of him which slowed healing a bit. He was pleased to note that all the disgusting saliva that the beast coated him in evaporated with the thing’s death. He half-heartedly tried to escape Dimitri’s embrace to prove he was perfectly fine. Alas, Dimitri wasn’t about to allow that. Claude knew better than to fight against the prince’s mouthwatering strength. Only admitting it in the security of his own mind, Dimitri’s arms grounded him in a manner he sorely needed. 

Marianne helped Hilda limp over to him and began healing her too. “Hey, thanks. Heh, wasn’t sure you were going to notice me when you swung that big axe of yours. Thought I was gonna be beheaded for sure.”

She flinched at his joke, expression breaking. “I would never!”

He shrugged. “You might if you couldn’t see me. Lysithea got me good with her Miasma.” The mage flinched, shooting him an apologetic look. “You didn’t know, it’s fine.  _ Wow _ you sure pack a punch though! Especially for someone so small.” For once Lysithea didn’t even shout at him.

“Claude, I’m serious. I will  _ never _ hurt you. Please believe me about that.”

He frowned at Hilda. “Okay? Thanks, I guess? I sure hope none of you have any plans to hurt me. I get it though, can’t be easy resisting the urge to shake a schemer like me around every now and then.” He winked, gesturing to the rest of the class. No one laughed.

“If anyone ‘shakes you around’, I’ll end them,” Hilda snapped. She jerked a finger at his chest. “I thought you were gonna die, you stupid jerk. I don’t want you dead! What do I have to say to get you to believe that?! You’re my best friend. I care about you, dummy!” He could only stare dumbly at her as she paused to scrub at her eyes.

“I, uh… thanks?” He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at a spot where he wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. “I appreciate having you as my best friend too. And I also appreciate not being dead. Look, I’m good now. Totally not dead. Hey, how’s everyone else doing? Any other injuries?” No one met his eye. “Sylvain, how are you holding up? Sorry about your brother and all that.” Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck and was conveniently looking in the other direction.

“Oh no you don’t! If you think I’m falling for your misdirection you’ve got another thing coming.”

“Ah, Hilda—” Dimitri tried to come to his defense, which only made him feel weaker.

“This doesn’t involve you Dimitri. I’m sorry Claude, I know you don’t wanna talk about it, and I don’t wanna talk about it, and none of us wanna talk about it. But,” she again paused to rub her arm over her nose, sniffling, “you almost  _ died. _ And I dunno how I’d handle it if you died, especially if you died thinking I secretly hated you or wanted you dead or whatever. You have no idea how awful it is knowing you think I’d just — what, decide to kill you or something? I don’t get how you came to that idea, but whatever I said,  _ I’m sorry. _ Okay? I can’t stand you being afraid of me.”

“Whoa, I’m not afraid of you! What’s all this about? Friendly fire can happen, it would’ve been an accident—”

“I’m not talking about just now! I mean when you begged me for your life!” Her shoulders slumped, tears trickling down her cheeks. “With the mushrooms.”

He blanched. “Whatever I said then has no bearing in reality. I’m sure I confused you for someone else.”  _ He didn’t. _ He… vaguely remembered something resembling her and Lorenz trying to kill him.

“You called me by name. I don’t believe you deserve to be hurt, I don’t believe you deserve to be hated, and I  _ really _ don’t believe you deserve to die.”  _ Oh  _ **_shit,_ ** _ what the hell did he tell her?! _

“That’s, er, good to know. Thanks. Look, even if I called you by name, I  _ really _ wasn’t in the right headspace. I must’ve confused you for someone else.” He rubbed the back of his neck, raising his eyes to the ceiling as he scrambled for an excuse. “There was this girl I used to know who held a grudge against me. I thought we were friends for a while, but she absolutely despised me. She had pink eyes like yours. I must’ve mixed you two together in my head. That’s all. You can’t trust anything I said. Mushroom-Claude was a big liar.”

“You mean it?”

“Of course. It’s obvious you don’t secretly hate me. Heh, trust me, secrets are my specialty after all. I would know.” So long as she never learned his other identity, at least.

“Well, everything I said is still true!” She snatched his collar and dragged him out of Dimitri’s lap. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself. No strike came. She squeezed him in a hug.

He chuckled carefully, not allowing an ounce of how thrown off he was to shine through. “What is this, hug Claude day?”

“It can be!” Flayn said, immediately joining Hilda’s hug. 

“Yeah, you deserve a big hug from all of us! We’re so happy you’re still okay bud!” Raphael  _ also _ joined the hug. 

“Aw shucks. You’re all just happy that Lorenz won’t become your new house leader.”

“Excuse me?!” Lorenz jutted out his chin. “I would make a far better house leader than you! That has no bearing on the fact that I too am relieved that you are well.”

“You gonna put your money where your mouth is, Gloucester? You must not care very much since you haven’t joined the Claude-pile.”

“I don’t see you hugging Claude either, Leonie!”

Both of them squeezed around him. “Uh. Right. Hah. I feel the love, you all can stop now.”

_ Another _ body joined the pile. “Don’t let this go to your ego! I’m only hugging you as an apology for hitting you with my spell!”

“Too late, my ego has been fed.” 

“I guess… I’ll join too? You’re a good guy, Claude.” Cyril awkwardly fit himself into the hug-pile. “Um, sorry. I’ve never been in a hug pile before… am I doing this right?”

“Can I pass?” Ignatz squeaked. “I do care a lot! I just—wah!”

“There you go. Just needed a little push. Now don’t mind if I join in t—” Sylvain broke off suddenly. “I mean, don’t mind if I join myself, over here in the corner. Yep, not gonna step in anyone’s territory, nope…”

“You’ve all made your point. We should get back to business. Right Teach?”

They patted his head. “Enjoy your hugs for a bit longer. We have plenty of time.”

“Thanks. Helpful as always.” He did his best not to fidget and failed. He breathed easier as soon as everyone let go. Not that he had any freedom, because Dimitri imminently pulled him back into his lap and snuggly wrapped around him. At least  _ that _ was expected behavior. “Ahem. Back to business.” He scrubbed his head, already feeling a building headache. “Flayn, did you fully heal up that gash on my back? I’m pretty sure there was some poison in that.”

“Worry not, I took care of it! You feel fine, yes?”

“Of course.” His headache must be left-over ‘I’m not dead’ adrenalin. “Since we plan to wait out the rain before we head back to Garreg Mach... “ He made grabby-hands. “Time to pay up Sylvain, let me touch your lance.”

Leonie and Hilda burst into snickers as Dimitri tightened his grip. “That lance just  _ ate _ Miklan,” Lysithea snapped. “It nearly ate you. I for one want to be as far away from it as possible.”

“Hey, I’m curious! It  _ is _ a hero’s relic. Though I’ll admit I’m not half as excited as I started out.” He bounced his eyebrows at Sylvain. “Well? Gonna honor your w—”

_ Pressure crashes into his skull. His grip is slipping, sliding, dragging away what little control remains—  _

“—the matter?” 

He exhaled sharply, forcing himself to let go of his skull. “Nothing.” He tried to stand up but Dimitri didn’t allow it. Probably for the best. The world wobbled around him.

“Headache?” Flayn asked, probing fingers gracing his temple.

“Nothing to worry about. If we’re going to spend the night here, we should find a safe spot in the lower levels to secure.”

“The professor and sir Gilbert already left to do exactly that. Did you miss our orders to ‘sit tight’ and heal up?”

_ Apparently. _ “Of course not. I just—”

_ Pounding, pounding, pounding. It demands he release the pressure. _

“—ool! Of course he’s downplaying that something’s wrong!” Lorenz was saying.

“Stop being such an idiot,” Lysithea gripped his chin tightly, forcing him to look into her eyes. “You are  _ clearly _ in pain, so stop hiding!”

He pressed his palms into his eyes. “Just a migraine. I’m sure it’ll be gone soon. It snuck up on me, that’s all.”

“Is the torchlight hurting your eyes?” Dimitri softly asked into the shell of his ear. “Or is sound bothering you?” Claude shook his head, immediately regretting the motion. Head spinning and skull thrumming, he ground his teeth back and forth. It was getting worse.

“That is odd,” Flayn murmured, her hands still on his head. “My spell should have relieved any such pain already. Allow me to try again… there. Any better?”

“No change.” He forced himself to say the words evenly as another wave of pain pressed against his skull. “Heh, who knows what I caught in the maw of the beast. Knew that c-cut was poisoned.” He sucked in a breath as the pressure expanded, slowly suffocating his lungs.

“That cannot be the cause. All the demonic poison was purged from your body. I  _ ensured _ it. It did not have enough time to set in and cause any true damage. Beyond that, a migraine is no symptom of such poison.”

He  _ needed _ to know what the hell was wrong. “You got any better explanation for—”

_ His grip slips. The trickle roars into a rush as the dam erupts. The tide crashes into him, sweeping him away. It drinks into him, filling every pore to the brink. He tries to scream and cannot. His lungs are full. He flails, but his limbs will not work. Everything is wrong. The current pulls him away, sweeping him towards oblivion, and he—  _

**_—pushes back, moon and sun flashing as one—_ **

_ —and heaves the stop gate back into place. _

“Ow,” he whispered, unwilling to peel his eyes open.

“Claude? Are you okay?” Dimitri whispered back.

“Y-yeah.” He cleared his dry throat and tried again. “Yes, of course. I’m fine.”

“Would you like any water? Food? Are you cold?”

He forced back a groan. “Thirsty.”

“I’m going to bring the waterskin to your lips.” Just as Dimitri promised, he felt it and drank deeply. “Not so fast, you’ll choke.”

After draining the waterskin he braved opening his eyes, ready for his classmate’s judgment. Squinting, he realized he was somewhere else alone with Dimitri. Shifting, his limbs were all tightly wrapped. The soft fabric of Dimitri’s cloak, followed by other blankets. The room was completely dark aside from a dim candle.

“Where are we?”

“Still in the tower. You scared me when you fainted.”

Alone with Dimitri, he allowed himself to groan. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Most are sleeping, I presume. It’s late. You’ve been out for a few hours. I was worried your migraine might be sensitive to light or sound, so we found this dark and quiet room for you. The others are just down the hall. How is your head? Shall I retrieve a healer for you?”

“The water helped, the migraine's gone. I’m just wrung out. What happened?”

Fingers threaded through his hair to cradle his head. Dimitri’s gloves were absent for once. The prince bent over him, gently pressing their foreheads together. “We don’t know. You were fine. Then you began spacing out and clutching your head. Not long after, your eyes rolled back and… no one could wake you. Flayn expended all of her magic attempting to help you, leading to her fainting as well.” Dimitri slowly rocked him back and forth as little tearing noises announced his fingers were ripping past the blanket. 

“You’re such a worrier. It was probably just some side effect of being in that beast’s mouth for so long. Maybe that thing gave me magical radiation or something. Just needed to sleep it off and sweat it out of my system.” He winked, but Dimitri didn’t look reassured.

“You were sick earlier too.” Dimitri shuddered an exhale. “I can’t stop turning it all over in my head. There must be an explanation. Claude, I fear the White Hart has cursed you.”

“White heart? What’s that mean?”

“The White Hart only appears when breaking an unspoken rule of… ahem, of the realm of heavens. That, or when death is near. Are you aware of any ‘rules’ you have broken? Or… any rules  _ we _ have broken, together, perhaps?”

The realm of the heavens… what, the sky? Stars? Knowing Fódlan culture, Dimitri probably meant the Goddess’ ‘domain’ and her ‘rules’. “Sounds like there’s a story behind this ‘white heart’ of yours. Why  _ Dima, _ you know I  _ love _ bedtime stories.”

Dimitri was silent for a moment. Finally the prince withdrew, pressing a light kiss to his forehead. “It is not a pleasant story. Another time.”

“Gonna hold you to that.”

“I know you will, my curious friend. I cannot help but wonder if the White Hart sought to claim you this morning. It was… possessive of you.”

“This morning? What, you mean the White Stag? I’m sure his heart’s a regular red color.”

“Huh? Oh.  _ Hart _ Claude, not heart.”

“You just said the same word twice.”

“Hart means deer.”

“No, heart means a very important organ. Are you trying to pull a prank on me? I know what a  _ heart _ is.” His Fódlandi had a few blindspots, sure, but he knew what  _ heart _ meant. 

Dimitri’s mouth curled upwards every so slightly, his eyes reflecting the tender expression. As soon as it appeared, it crumbled. “I beg you to be honest with me. Is our relationship harming you?”

_ “Huh? _ How did you come to  _ that  _ conclusion? I’m not, like, allergic to you.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“Speak plainly then, like you usually do! I’m tired, stop dancing around whatever you want to say.”  _ He _ was the one that spoke in mysterious riddles, not Dimitri.

“I don’t  _ know _ Claude! I don’t know why you’re hurt, and I can’t  _ stand _ the idea that maybe… it might be… because of… me.”

“That’s dumb.” He wriggled himself up, pressing his forehead into Dimitri’s cheek. His hands remained trapped under the tight wrappings of blankets. “Listen, I got poisoned by some nasty mushrooms on the Golden Deer camping trip and this is just a weird after-effect.” Never mind that it had been days (a week?) since then. “Mushrooms are weird, they do crazy things. Hah, I know you love to blame yourself for things, but this is seriously a stretch that you’re, what, poisoning me with our friendship? All you’ve done is take care of me.” He nuzzled Dimitri’s cheek, ignoring the burning humiliation at needing to be ‘taken care of’ in this situation. “So stop beating yourself up.”

“Claude…” Something in Dimitri’s expression shifted. It was too dark to categorize the exact change. The hand in his hair swept around to his cheek, tracing up and down. His skin prickled into goosebumps at the rare feel of Dimitri’s bare hands. They were oddly textured, matching the brief glances of scars he’d caught over the course of knowing Dimitri. He leaned into the touch, savoring how much better it felt than worn leather. His eyes fluttered shut as Dimitri continued to caress his cheek. Dimitri’s thumb swiped over his lips, quickly at first, then again slowly. The prince traced over his lips again and again, as if exploring them by feel.

“You have soft lips,” Dimitri hoarsely whispered, pausing at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks?” He  _ barely _ resisted the urge to self-consciously lick his lips. For whatever reason, his brain decided this was the perfect moment to remind him of his insanity-induced desire to lick Dimitri’s abs earlier. The prince was literally touching his face. If he blushed Dimitri would feel it. He swallowed hard, weakly chuckling. “I, uh, use lip salve. Don’t tell Hilda, she thinks it’s natural and is jealous. Heh, can’t stand chapped lips, you know?”

“Oh. I supposed I too was fooled. Does the salve taste?”

“Not really. A little bit waxy when I first apply it I guess.” 

He had to stop talking as Dimitri returned to touching his lips. “Doesn’t feel waxy. Merely…”

The door creaked. “U-um…” Dimitri shoved his face into the crook of his neck, tensing and twisting to place himself between Claude and the door. “S-sorry, I, um, d-didn’t mean to, um, I can… come back…”

Dimitri exhaled sharply. “Apologies, you startled me. Please stay. I planned to come get you. Claude’s awake.”

He wiggled and, once again, failed to free himself from the tightly wrapped blankets. “Hey Mari. How’re your eyes?”

“F-fine. I’m sorry, I…”

Dimitri lifted him up and practically thrust him towards Marianne. “You should — examine him! Ensure he is well. Yes. Claude, are you hungry? Still thirsty? I’ll go get you something to eat. I’ll be back!”

He blinked rapidly as Dimitri rushed out the door. At this rate he was never going to understand the prince. He tilted his head to Marianne and shrugged. “I feel fine, but you’re welcome to check me over.”

Nodding, Marianne sat down and placed his head in her lap. Soft light filled the room as she brushed the cool healing energy across his head. “A-all I can find wrong, um, you’re slightly dehydrated? That’s all…”

“Ugh, why am I so thirsty all the time? Whatever. You can’t find anything that triggered my earlier migraine?”

“N-no. Um, the others have been theorizing, about it. M-maybe someone else figured it out. Um. There are a lot of, um, unique ideas…” She fidgeted a bit. “I-I’m sorry. E-everyone’s worried about you. No one has been able to sleep…”

“I’m not  _ dying. _ People are seriously losing sleep over this? It was probably just a stress migraine from, y’know, nearly being eaten.” He curled up a bit, making himself comfortable on her lap. “Go ahead, lay some theories on me. I guarantee some of them are ridiculously funny.”  _ And he needed to know what they were saying about him. _

“Oh. Um. Raphael thinks you haven’t been eating enough. Um, Lysithea suggested a magical reaction to the Lance of Ruin? Lorenz mentioned that maybe you are being punished by the Goddess… but I think he was joking! M-maybe. A-and the others think it’s leftover from the, um, mushrooms.”

He hummed. “And what do you think?”

She bit down on her lip hard, looking away as she wrung her hands together. “I… I don’t know, I’m probably wrong…”

He wiggled himself into a sitting position, bumping his shoulder into hers. “Can’t be any worse than Raphael’s theory. Dimitri somehow got it into his head that his friendship is cursing me or some nonsense like that.”

“W-well… I, um… p-p-people around me… o-often fine misfortune…”

“Mari,  _ c’mon, _ we talked about this.” He rested his cheek on her shoulder, nuzzling against her. “Thief ancestor doesn’t make you a thief. Cursed ancestor doesn’t make you cursed.”

She hung her head. “I don’t know Claude. Do you remember earlier, that big flash of light? A-after your, um, smoke cloud.”

“Sorry about that again. That’s right, I was going to ask you about that. What did you see?”

“I-it was your crest. I saw, um, the Crest of Riegan. B-but I’ve never seen such a bright crest before…”

“That’s impossible. Or maybe just a coincidence. My crest isn’t anywhere near that bright.” Yet he thought about it. Now that she brought it up, the rejuvenation  _ did _ resemble his crest. It had been stronger than ever. “Is it possible to ‘supercharge’ a crest? Maybe that  _ is _ the problem. I sure feel wrung out. If my crest somehow went haywire, a migraine makes sense as a side effect. But how does that work? All I did was stab someone’s foot. What triggered the extra light? You’re a healer Mari, is it possible to get sick from overusing a crest?”

“O-oh, um… w-well… I think it depends on the crest? I don’t know a lot about them…” She brought her knuckles to her mouth and chewed, darting between looking at him and the wall. “There is, um, something. It probably isn’t related though…”

“You can’t tease me like this. Even if it turns out to be unrelated, I’m dying to hear any details about crests. I’ll admit, there’s a lot I don’t know even about my own.” Most knowledge about crests wasn't written down. He originally theorized the lack of documentation was due to church suppression, but Hanneman made that theory unlikely. No, he was certain it had to do with guarding family secrets. From his limited research, such knowledge was left to be found out on the crest user’s own, or was handed down orally. Dimitri’s knowledge of his own crest stemmed from traditional Blaiddyd training techniques.

“There’s, um, there’s one crest…” She squeezed her eyes shut, lips quivering. “P-please… promise me you won’t pry for a-anything but what I tell you? I shouldn’t tell anyone about this.”

_ Secrets? Score! _ “Promise. If I accidentally start digging, just tell me to shut my mouth.” He finally unburied an arm, wrapping it around her shoulder. She hesitated, then returned his hug.

“There’s at least one crest that is… cursed. It is said the crest is filled with so much malice and negative energy that it corrupts whoever is burdened with it. The blood of whoever carries the cursed crest is poisonous.”

“Poisonous blood? No way. Poisonous or venomous? Are we talking cytotoxin? Neurotoxin?  _ Ooo, necrotoxin?” _ He had to work hard for  _ his _ venomous blood!

“U-um… it’s, um, m-metaphorical.”

“Oh. Never mind, keep going.”

She hunched in on herself. “S-sorry… The m-more the crest is used, um… the worse the crest poisons its host. At its peak… the host is, is… changed. Into…” her voice fell into a breath of a whisper, “into a hideous beast that only hungers for the blood of innocents. Just like Miklan was.”

_ “Crests _ can do that? But I thought Miklan transformed because he was crestless… unless, did he secretly possess this crest? Are you talking about the Gautier crest?” His eyes widened. “Or was Miklan a bastard with a crest aside from Gautier? Was  _ that _ why he was disowned?”

“No, I don’t think so… The crest of the beast looks and acts differently…”

“The crest of the beast… huh. A crest that injects ‘metaphorical’ poison into its user.  _ Fascinating. _ I’ve never heard of anything like that. Granted, getting my hands on any knowledge about crests is a task and a half. Seriously, it’s so unfair how little the church puts out. Like with Miklan! Rhea  _ had  _ to know his transformation was a possibility yet she kept us all in the dark. So those transformations can be triggered by crestless people  _ or _ by overusing a specific crest? Or is it  _ any _ crest? Do crests have a threshold where they begin to ‘corrupt’ their user? I don’t get it, aren’t crests supposedly ‘gifts from the Goddess’? Why turn people into those  _ things? _ How is that benevolent?” He shook his head. “Surely that isn’t my issue though. Before today, I haven’t used my crest in a while. Unless… does it build up without use?” He mentally winced. Half his questions were probably obvious to anyone raised in crest society.

“I don’t think your crest can harm you,” Marianne whispered. “It’s just the one cursed crest.”

“But that sets a precedent for crests causing negative effects. If one can do it, why not others? Can’t rule the possibility out.”

“I suppose… it’s possible. But other crests, crests blessed by the Goddess, I don’t think they could hurt their user…”

“Yet the goddess’ ‘holy weapon’ did a lot of damage to Miklan. Maybe I should send a letter to my gramps asking about our crest. Wouldn’t be the first time the old man kept something important from me.”  _ Granted, _ most of the time it was because gramps assumed he already knew whatever the secret was.

“Cl-Claude…” Marianne sniffled. The implications of her words hit him all at once. She shook in his arms. “You can’t t-tell a-anyone, pl-lease…”

“Of course not. Mari…” _ Cursed. _

_ “Don’t. _ Please, please…” He freed his other arm and held her in a tight hug. “It’s… inevitable. The curse turns the host into a beast. And then the beast slaughters everyone they love.”

“It’s funny,” he whispered without a note of humor, “I just had this sort of conversation with Dimitri. Seems like everyone’s afraid of becoming beasts…”

“D-don’t. Don’t say it.”

“I won’t. I won’t say it, but it doesn’t change a thing. I’ll have you know I have a habit of challenging fate. I won’t allow you to lose yourself. And if you do, I promise I’ll bring you back. You didn’t think I would abandon you, did you?”

Marianne didn’t immediately speak. He let her quiver in his arms, slowly rocking her back and forth like Dimitri did for him. “I knew you wouldn’t. E-even though you should.”

“Nope. I was serious when I told you we’re similar.”

“I… I know. That’s why I told you. You… you understand what it’s like to be shunned for your birth.”

It was a testament to how deeply he had come to trust Marianne that her statement didn’t  _ terrify _ him. All it did was lodge a warm lump in his throat. “Well there’s that too. There’s something else though. Don’t go spreading this around, but… heh, some people have blood that isn’t just  _ metaphorically _ poisonous. Venomous. Whatever.” He winked.

She jolted, withdrawing just enough to look him in the eye. Her own grey eyes shimmered with tears just waiting to fall. “Your blood?”

“I said  _ some _ people, not  _ me.” _ He rolled his shoulder and shot her a weak smile. Clearing his throat and whispering, he elaborated. “But yes. I do. Shh, that’s a secret. Don’t worry, it’s only dangerous if it gets in a cut! Plus I keep antidotes on me, and it takes a day or two to fully take effect.” A day or two to fully stop the heart, but Marianne didn’t need that detail. “Oh, but it’s not from a crest. Thought I’d clarify. I’ve had it since I was six, it’s come in handy a lot. There’s actually a group of people with venomous blood. So I mean, it’s rare, but not unique. It’s nothing to worry about, I’ve never accidently poisoned anyone”  _ that didn’t have it coming. _

“I-it’s okay Claude.” She closed her eyes and tucked her head onto his shoulder. “I’m sorry…”

“Nothing to be sorry about. I did it to myself.”

“N-no, I’m sorry that you n-needed to do that to keep yourself safe.” That was  _ eerily _ accurate. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You and Dimitri would  _ really _ get along. Why wouldn’t you deserve a friend, huh? You're my Kind Friend, and that won’t change.”  _ Unless she decided she hated him… _ yet somehow, he felt that maybe, just maybe, even if she knew him as Khalid… she might accept him. What a dangerous thought.

“Kind Friend?”

His face immediately immolated. He wasn’t going to take it back though. “Yeah, Kind Friend. Hilda’s my Best Friend, Dimitri’s my Dear Friend, and you’re my Kind Friend.” Marianne choked a sob into his shoulder, squeezing him tightly. She buried her face against him and muffled more noises. He hugged her right back. She pulled her face up, wobbling a smile as tears trickled down her cheeks. Another noise escaped her as her smile grew. Her smile bloomed as her eyes squeezed shut, giggling as more tears trailed down her cheeks. 

_ She was… laughing at him? _

“Okay. That means you’re my Kind Friend too then. B-because you’re kind too.”

The hurt that hadn’t had a chance to sink in evaporated. He raised his eyes to the ceiling and lightly chuckled. “Me? Kind? Nah, you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“I-if Hilda gets to call you her Best Friend, and Dimitri your Dear Friend, then I can call you my Kind Friend.” Her grin flattened. “U-um, o-o-only if that’s okay, I’m sorry, I, I mean—”

“Fine, fine, you win. Your logic wins out.” He squeezed her extra tight, pressing their foreheads together. Then, as a whisper, “thank you.”

The door creaked open. “Sorry I took so long. I was distracted by—”

“Please tell me you brought water, my throat is  _ so _ dry.” He pulled away from Marianne slightly, pressing a goodbye-kiss to her forehead before standing and honing in on Dimitri’s goblet of water. “You’re the best, I—” The goblet shattered in Dimitri’s hand. He leapt back a good couple of feet at the sudden noise. “Gods! What was that about? Aw, my water…”

He couldn’t get a read on Dimitri’s expression in the darkness. “I brought stew. I will go procure you more water. Apologies for  _ interrupting.” _

“Interrupting what?” He followed Dimitri’s head. He was facing Marianne, glaring? “What’s that look for?” He stepped between the two. “It’s okay, I’m not that thirsty.”  _ He was. _ “You must be tired. I’ll eat, then we can go to sleep. Mari said I’m tipped-topped shape, nothing to worry about.” He weaseled his way into Dimitri’s arms, ignoring the prince’s wet hand. For once Dimitri didn’t immediately clamp him in a hug. “Dima?”

“My assistance is required elsewhere,” the prince mechanically replied. Almost angrily? 

“Hey, don’t get grumpy on me. Stop trying to skip going to bed. You aren’t immune to sleep deprivation, Your Princeliness. Forget the stew, I just want to go back to sleep.” He gestured to the piles of blankets he shed beside Marianne. “There’s plenty for us to share!”

_ “Us?” _

“What’s with you? Yeah. You, me, and Mari.” Behind him, Marianne sharply inhaled. He turned to her, frowning. “What?”

“U-uh, Claude, uh—”

“Do you sleep with her often?” Dimitri slowly asked.

“Marianne? Yeah, we sleep together sometimes. She’s almost as good in bed as I am.” He winked, trying to soften whatever protective mood Dimitri was in  _ this time. _ He tugged on Dimitri’s arm to no change. “You two should really talk more often, you’re a lot alike. C’mon Your Princeliness, stop being a statue.” At once he stopped as something occurred to him. “Gah, sorry Mari. I wasn’t thinking. You don’t have to if you’re not comfortable. I wasn’t thinking, I got ahead of myself. We can sleep together another time?”

“N-no, Prince Dimitri, we don’t  _ sleep _ together! That’s not what he means!”

“Huh? That’s exactly what I mean.”  _ Did she not want anyone to know…? _ But the rest of the Deer knew. What difference did Dimitri make? She was just being shy. She didn’t care that people knew they were close friends.  _ Didn’t she? _ He looked between his two friends. Dimitri looked angry. Marianne burst into tears. “Dimitri, what the hell. Stop glaring at her! What’s  _ up  _ with you?” 

“I’m s-s-sorry, I ruin everything! I’ll g-go!” She burst from the ground and raced from the room, sobbing into her hands.

“Mari, wait!” She was already gone. He whirled on Dimitri. “What was that for? That was  _ Marianne _ that you glared at! When Hilda finds out, she’s going to kill you.” If Dimitri was anyone else, he’d be right alongside Hilda. He crossed his arms. “You need to apologize to her.”

“Do I now?” Dimitri growled, glared fixed on  _ him  _ now. A shiver crawled down his spine. “What am I to you, Claude von Riegan?”

He stepped back, mouth falling open. “Whoa, calm down. You're my Dear Friend, remember? What’s gotten into you? Talk to me.”

“And what is  _ she _ to you? Your  _ Mari.” _

“Excuse me? She’s my Kind Friend. What’s your problem with her?”  _ Did Dimitri know about her crest? Did Dimitri judge her for it…? _ “I expected better from you.”

“Such a kind ‘friend’ she is to abandon you. Just as you abandoned me for her.”

“Abandon? I’m right here! And Marianne didn’t abandon me, she wouldn’t do that. She’s just shy and upset. You’re not making sense.”

Dimitri roughly shoved the bowl of stew into his hands, nearly knocking him over with the force of his shove. “Good  _ night.” _

“Wait, where are you going?”

_ “Out.  _ Go find  _ Mari _ to sleep with you, as you so clearly favor her.”

“Di—” Dimitri slammed the door behind him, rattling the stone walls. He stared at the door. “…Dima?”

He shoved the stew in a corner, not hungry (very thirsty though). He returned to his pile of blankets, burying his nose in Dimitri’s cloak. He cocooned himself as tightly as he could. There was no pillow. He didn’t feel like venturing out to find one. He curled up on the ground and tucked his head under the blankets.

Maybe Dimitri and Marianne had a sour history together. He clearly blundered into something. Marianne was probably off blaming herself. Dimitri was going to punish himself by not sleeping. If he was a good friend, he would go to them. He would broker a peace and smooth the ruffled edges. But… 

Dimitri was mad at him, and Marianne wouldn’t want to see him. In one mistake he ruined two of his three friendships. Marianne would be back, right? Dimitri would get over his anger. They’d be back for him. They wouldn’t hate him.

Right?

He faced the door, already shivering. Despite the blankets as a buffer, he was laying on cold stone in a breezy tower in the middle of a rainstorm in northern Gautier territory. He missed Almyra. At least in Almyra he was warm. At least in Almyra he didn’t have any friends to abandon him. 

His headache was back. Foolish to get so distracted. Was it really his crest? That made no sense. He just didn’t  _ know. _ Someone would come check on him soon. They all claimed they cared.  _ Someone _ would come check on him, if nothing else than to give the illusion that they cared. He really wanted some water.

Pressure and pain rapidly knocked against his skull. He refused to sleep or take his eyes off the door. He was waiting for someone to come back. 

…What was he thinking. No one ever came back for him. No one ever had and no one ever would.

He considered leaving the tower entirely. It was a dumb idea on a good day to wander off on his own in unfamiliar (and cold) territory. Add onto the downpour as well as how few animals would be out in said downpour… 

He stayed where he was, waiting and aching. As his head rolled into a thunder, he welcomed it. He welcomed the smothering wave. He didn’t bother holding anything back. He welcomed oblivion and didn’t struggle as his lungs filled to the brim. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Claude, in the middle of a fight: Dimitri! It's an emergency! Bend this metal beam in half!  
> Dimitri, instantly complying: I snapped it, I'm sorry!  
> Claude: Is this love?... Dimitri, it's an emergency! Take off your shirt!  
> Hilda: omg seriously?? right NOW Claude?? In front of my salad????
> 
> Claude, emboldened by his recent friendship-connection with Marianne: We sleep together too! :) It would be amazing if my two trusted pals wanted to snuggle with me at the same time :) :)  
> Dimitri: you... sleep... with someone? You SLEEP with someone?! Who isnt ME?! >:(  
> Marianne: He means snuggle! We dont sleep together!  
> Claude: You dont want other people knowing that you sleep with me...? :(  
> Byleth & Sothis, spying and eating popcorn: All according to keikaku* (*there is no plan, they just enjoy drama) 
> 
> ...what can I say. I have a thing for two different magic types that were never meant to interact mixing together in an unpredictable manners. Not that Claude's sickness is being caused by his crest. It's more like his crest is being affected by his sickness... ;)
> 
> Next chapter: "I'm sorry." "No, I'm sorry." "No, I'm more sorry and am undeserving." "I'm even more undeserving and am the most sorry."


	34. Friends with Benefits (no, not those benefits)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I should put a horror warning for this chapter? What can I say, it’s the end of this arc. Stuff comes to a head ;3c

Hilda’s eyes snapped open as she bolted upright. A flash of lightning illuminated the room before plunging it back into darkness. Someone (Ignatz?) screamed. Shaking, she had no idea what her dream had been about but it must have been a nightmare. 

“What time is it?” Lysithea whispered. The younger girl clutched Cyril like a lifeline, skin stark white against in the faint light of the remaining embers. “How soon until dawn?”

“Hard to tell,” Leonie replied, voice oddly weak. “Clouds are still too thick to see the moon. Who let the fire go out? Who was on guard shift?”

No one spoke up. The professor and Gilbert were guarding the hall, but they were supposed to have someone guard the interior too. Just in case. Apparently everyone fell asleep.

Lorenz cleared his throat. “We will be unable to leave immediately. So long as this downpour continues, it is wisest to weather the storm here. We best find wood to restart the fire.”

“This place is creepy though,” Cyril muttered.

She groaned. “Ugh, it was fine before we all went to sleep!” Cyril was right though — the tower was _way_ creepy now. She slid over to Raphael. The big guy didn’t even hesitate to offer her a spot by his side. As soon as he wrapped an arm around her, a pang in her chest softened. The shadows were still terrifying but at least she didn’t feel isolated. 

“Um, Sylvain?” Ignatz whispered over the sound of rain, knuckles white on the window. “Is this kind of storm normal? I think it’s gotten worse.”

Sylvain cocked his head towards the painter, reluctantly abandoning his corner (with that scary lance) to join Ignatz by the window. He whistled lowly. “This far north is usually dry. We get a few inches of rain a year, if that. If this storm keeps up, there’s going to be a flood.” Sylvain turned to them, a crack of lightning illuminating his pensive expression. “We need your professor. Any of you ever dealt with a flood situation?”

“I’ve passed through some towns in flood season,” Ignatz admitted. “I’m not sure if their practices are what we need here. I remember the innkeeper barricading the entrance with sandbags though.”

“Where the hell do we get sandbags from?”

She did _not_ want to deal with any of that. “I’ll go check on Claude! Someone needs to inform Dimitri and Marianne about potential flooding,” she volunteered. No one objected.

She moved to the hallway, down a corridor, and into the room they settled Claude in. “Knock knock,” she said as she opened the door. Squinting in the darkness, Marianne and Dimitri were gone. _Huh._ Yeesh, what happened to Dimitri’s adamant refusal to leave Claude’s side? A chill ran down her spine. She might not know Dimitri well, but something was wrong. _And where was Marianne?_

She regretted coming alone. Maybe it was the darkness, or the rainstorm, or the stupid tower itself, but she _really_ did not want to be alone. Nails digging into her palms, she forced herself to move into the room rather than retreat. Claude was bundled in a pile of blankets, all alone. Despite being asleep, the idea of leaving him alone rubbed her the wrong way. Anything could be hiding in the dark.

She didn’t bother trying to wake him up before she scooped him into her arms. She needed to get back to the others. Claude didn’t so much as twitch. The dead weight in her arms prompted her to pause. “Claude?” _No response._ Of course not. Flayn hadn’t been able to wake him up, after all. There was no chance of her succeeding where an actual healer failed. She shook him again. But earlier Dimitri got food for Claude, so surely he woke up before. “Claude, hey sleepyhead. Wakey wakey.”

Claude was cold. _No. Dear Goddess, please no._ She stood dumbly with him in her arms. She needed to get back to the others. She needed to check his pulse. She needed to check on him. She needed to get out of the dark room.

Her legs refused to move.

“Claude, wake up. Wake up!” her whispers bounced around the stone room. “Stop messing with me, you can go back to sleep in a minute. Just wake up already. Please wake up.” _Where was everyone?_ Dimitri was supposed to keep an eye on him! Marianne said she would give him a check-up and never came back! 

She tried to listen for his pulse but only found her own galloping heartbeat. Clutching him closer in some attempt to protect him from the darkness, she froze up. It wasn’t until lightning flashed that she moved. Screaming at the sudden boom, she bolted for the door and ran.

“Hilda, you’re back! Have you seen the professor? They vanished from their post!” Lorenz greeted her.

She bent over and panted, still clutching the blanket-bundled Claude against her. _Yeesh, he didn’t even ask if she was okay!_ “Marianne and Dimitri are gone too. And Claude isn’t waking.”

“Flayn’s gone too,” Raphael softly reported, holding a huddling Ignatz. “I guess she got up while we were all sleeping. But I don’t get why.” Lightning flashed again and Ignatz shouted. “What if she’s scared of the storm too?”

She carefully settled Claude on the ground. “Okay so all that is bad and stuff, but someone with medical knowledge come look at Claude right now. I don’t think he’s supposed to be this cold.”

A beat of silence. In the absence of Marianne and Flayn, Lysithea and Leonie would have to do. Lysithea’s faith knowledge was meager but better than anyone else present and Leonie at least knew some first aid. Leonie pressed her palm to his head, flinching back. “This is bad. He should be shivering at his temperature.” Claude remained limp as a corpse.

Lysithea ran a small spell over him. “There’s nothing for me to heal. He’s still breathing, it’s just shallow.” Without any better idea, they tucked Claude against Raphael and Ignatz, bundling him as much as possible. _At least he was alive._

“Should we search for Flayn and the professor…?” Hilda asked, dreading the idea of leaving their group. 

Before she got an answer, Sylvain burst into the room followed by a ragged Gilbert. “We have a problem. The lower level is flooded. We’re trapped.”

* * *

Sylvain knew a shitty situation when he saw one. His Highness was missing. The professor, Flayn, and Marianne were missing. Claude was comatose. They were out of things to burn for a fire. After three straight days of rain they were running low on food. Being alone resulted in absolute terror. He wasn’t being a wuss about it — literally everyone agreed. Something about the tower was _wrong_ and that wrongness came out in full force alone in the dark. That didn’t even include having to kill Miklan and watching his demonic beast of a brother turn into a literal demonic beast a few days ago. He wasn’t getting much sleep.

Not his best week for sure.

After three days, they were out of options. The area around the tower was completely flooded. Even if they _could_ get out, there was no way to make it anywhere safe nearby. The roads were swallowed by water and he ached to consider the poor villages nearby. At this rate they were going to drown. So long as the rains weren’t apocalyptic in nature, it wasn’t like the entire tower could flood. Unfortunately, the rains might very well be an apocalypse. No amount of brainstorming could propose a solution other than ‘wait it out’ and ‘hope and pray.’ _Pray._ Sure. Praying got him so far in life. He wasn’t holding his breath.

His only hope for His Highness was built on the fact that no bodies were found. Not even any bones or pieces of a body. Which was also terrifying, because _the dead bandits and Miklan_ were all gone. So the theory that something in the darkness of the tower was slowly eating away at whatever flesh it could find was viable. For his sanity he chose not to think too hard about it.

He thought very, very hard about it. Wasn’t like there was anything else to do but think or sleep. What little sleep he got held no refuge. 

At least the Golden Deer welcomed him with open arms. More accurately, they gave him no choice in the matter. Contact helped with the crushing feelings of isolation that the tower exuded. He didn’t bother joking about everyone’s close proximity anymore. He was too grateful being included to risk screwing it up.

“He’s ‘awake’ again,” Cyril alerted them. Looking up, he met the blank eyes of the Golden Deer leader himself. How Hilda scrapped together enough bravery to hold onto Claude when he was ‘awake’ was a mystery. The sightless blinks were downright eerie. 

“Thanks,” Hilda quietly said, pulling out a waterskin and drizzling some on her fingers. Routinely she maneuvered Claude and opened his jaw. Frosted breath billowed out. Hilda stuck her fingers in Claude’s mouth in her attempt to keep him hydrated. After a few seconds she repeated the processes, over and over. He ran out of lude jokes days ago. Now it was just depressing. They couldn’t get him to eat anything — he just choked if they tried.

“We never should have left him alone,” Ignatz murmured against his shoulder. He patted the poor guy. Lightning hadn’t stopped at all and he wasn’t doing too hot. Ignatz already had two breakdowns — hopefully there wouldn’t be a third.

“We didn’t leave him alone. Dimitri and Marianne were _supposed_ to watch him. This is all their fault!”

“Hey, don’t blame them Lysithea! Something must have happened. Neither one of them would have just _left_ without reason.”

“Maybe he’s the lucky one. We’re all going to drown or starve to death. He’ll just pass in his sleep.”

“Whoa, we can’t give up yet! I bet the others are out getting help! The professor wouldn’t leave us without a good reason.”

“They must be dead. As loathe as I am to consider the possibility, it has been three days since we saw them last. Whatever got them also got dear Marianne and Prince Dimitri. It nearly got Claude, just look at his poor state!”

“It’s not like we know why he’s like this. Maybe it’s his mystery sickness acting up. He isn’t injured, after all.”

“What if it’s because of…” Multiple pairs of eyes darted to the furthest corner of the room where the Lance of Ruin dimly glowed under a blanket. “What if it’s a ghost after us?”

“Shut up! Ghosts _aren’t_ real, so there is _no_ ghost in this tower!” Lysithea shook as she yelled, squeezing Cyril tightly. 

“Ungh…” Claude moaned with a puff of frost, cutting them all off into silence. His eyes slowly swept left, then right, then trailed to stare at a blank spot in front of him. As ever, he didn’t seem to register anyone’s existence. 

“Just like a cat staring at a spot on the wall,” he weakly joked, not for the first time. Each time he tried to lighten the mood his efforts fell flatter. 

“He still cold?” Raphael asked, pointedly eyeing the frosted breath. The rest of them were cold too, but it wasn’t cold enough for frozen breath. Claude’s breath wasn’t even cold (they checked). Part of him wanted to suggest isolating Claude. The vapor billowing out of his mouth wasn’t natural and it had a very real possibility of being dangerous to them. He didn’t bother suggesting it. The Golden Deer were too tight knit to abandon any of their members.

Hilda nodded. “He’ll be fine though. We all will be fine.” She didn’t elaborate. She never did. He was certain she was trying to convince herself more than the rest of them.

They really should have turned back when they saw that White Hart. It made him wonder. Was it an omen of disaster to come? Or did they accidently slip into the realm of the dead themselves? He kept his theories to himself. Lysithea wouldn’t appreciate the idea that she might be as good as a ghost herself now. He didn’t fancy getting hit (or making her cry again).

The pounding of rainfall only grew louder.

* * *

It was easy to find a suitable stone slab. With all the debris Miklan kicked around, Dimitri had his choice to pick from. He dragged it to the start of the stairwell and began from there. He heaped corpses on top of corpses, using the stone slab as a makeshift sled. Someone needed to tend to the dead, even wretches like these.

His own kills were easy to distinguish. Brutalized corpses. Broken bones, missing limbs, crushed body parts. They were all faceless in his memories. Did they have a family? What drove them to banditry? 

It didn’t matter. They sealed their fate the moment they took up arms against his people. He collected their bodies. He collected bodies filled with arrows. He collected bodies with only a single arrow. He collected bodies ravished by Lysithea’s dark magic. He collected bodies with stab wounds, slashes, piercing strikes. Some died quickly. Others had tried to crawl away before slowly succumbing. 

He came to the collection of bodies that enraged him the most. _Rogues. Assassins. Dishonorable curs._ The circle of bodies were the ones that ambushed Claude (and **Marianne).** Claude had risked his life for that _woman._ (They would be good together. Claude deserved the best. Dimitri was not the best. He just wanted Claude to be happy and healthy. If that meant he found another… Dimitri knew to step down. Marianne was a woman. Dimitri could never provide what she could.) He collected the corpse embedded in the wall. He collected the corpse without a head. He collected the other corpses on the ground without any discernible injury. He kicked one to ensure they were dead. Truly Claude’s skill was unparalleled. To kill with so little evidence…

One of the corpses had a pulse.

He waited and listened. The pulse was slow. The man was hardly breathing. The only injury he found was a slim cut against the man’s thigh. The bandit didn’t deserve to live. He shook the man, roughly slapping him. No response. Flayn was resting. Marianne was… _Marianne._ It was unlikely whatever was wrong with the man could be healed anyways. He dismissed the idea of getting him a healer. Onto the slab the soon-to-be corpse went. 

Even Miklan’s body was collected. As a Gautier, it was proper to bring his corpse back to his family. As a disowned Gautier, he deserved nothing. Onto the slab the corpse went. Death was truly the great equalizer. Noble and commoners, wicked and righteous, all died in the end.

By the time he dragged the pile of corpses to the ladder leading to the roof, even he was feeling the strain of the weight. He would need to carry each body up the ladder individually. Maybe two or three at a time. 

The hatch was open. A woman’s sobs were audible.

 _“Dear Goddess, forgive me. Please, please, I beg you to take me away. End the suffering I cause others, please Goddess…” Marianne._ How _dare_ she cry. _She_ held Claude’s affection. What else did the selfish, greedy seductress desire?

Perhaps it was because he hated himself that he climbed the ladder.

Poking his head into the fresh air of dawn, his anger was replaced by bafflement. He watched the scene for a moment. Scrubbing his eyes and opening them again did nothing to make anything comprehensible.

“What are you doing?”

Marianne flinched, almost dropping the bird (goose?) in her arms. Her back was to him, shoulders hunched as she continued to sniffle. She made a quiet little noise, then shook her head. “I… I’m sorry…” she whispered, barely audible even in the light drizzle. “The birds, um… I, I don’t know what’s wrong… they won’t wake up. Th-they’ll get cold…” She tittered over to a pile of birds and placed the goose with the rest. “T-together they should st-stay warm though… I hope.”

Dimitri cast his gaze around the roof of the tower. Birds were scattered all over. He’d never seen anything like it. “They’re all dead.”

“No! They’re just… sleeping. U-um, there are others at the base of the tower.”

Driven by morbid curiosity (perhaps Claude was rubbing off on him), he peered over the edge. “What in the Goddess’ name…?” Scattered around the base of the tower were bodies. It wasn’t _just_ at the base. In a radius around the tower were all sorts of creatures. His eye caught on movement from a nearby forest. A fox darted into the clear area surrounding the tower. As it got closer, it slowed. Nearly halfway to the entrance it stumbled and didn’t get back up. At the base of the tower were larger creatures. Bears, elk, boar, and wolves alike slumbered. “What _is_ this?”

“I d-don’t know. U-um, I don’t think it’s n-natural.” He turned to look back at her. Marianne hung her head, hiding her eyes behind her hair. “P-prince Dimitri, I… I’m… so s-sorry…”

The strangeness of the slumbering animals faded as his anger returned. “Save it. Who Claude shares his bed with is none of _my_ business.” He grit his teeth together and forced himself to glare at her feet instead of her face.

“We’re friends!” The odd shout-squeak surprised him. “Cl-Claude’s my friend. That’s all. When he s-said we sleep together, that’s _all_ we do. Please believe me. Don’t be angry at him. I’m the one that deserves to be hated… I’ll stay away from him if that’s what you want. Please, I can’t bear to be the reason he loses your friendship.”

“He’s been _lying_ to me. All the times he said he was going _out,_ of course I should have known he was finding comfort in _your_ bed.”

Marianne shook her head, gripping around her waist tightly. “Claude doesn’t like to lie. He, um, he does go out often. He sleeps in the woods a lot. He only comes to me when he’s hurt. Because I can heal him.”

“Are you implying he is often hurt?”

“N...not exactly. U-um, he’s… Um, i-i-it’s not my place to s-say.”

His shoulders slumped. He nodded. “He gets scared.” _And chooses Marianne’s safe embrace instead of his own beastly hold._

“Um… sometimes. I think he gets lonely.”

He knelt down and collected a pigeon in his arms. Bringing it to the bird pile, he hesitated. “How do I arrange it?”

Marianne shook as she directed him on how to settle the bird with the others. They worked in silence (aside from Marianne’s sniffles and occasional sobs). There were a startling amount of birds on the roof. 

“Thank you,” Marianne whispered an hour later when the birds were all collected in a pile. The rain finally stopped. “F-for the birds sake.”

“You’re very kind to animals. I suppose that is what Claude sees in you.” Marianne was gentle and soft. Loving. Nurturing. He was hard, rough, ugly, disgusting, brutish. His clumsy hands could never hold Claude the way Marianne’s could. Marianne was everything Claude deserved. Everything _he_ wasn’t. “I planned to bring the bodies of the fallen here. There is no dry wood to build a pyre and burying them all would take too long. Claude…” he cleared his throat. “Claude once told me of a different burial practice. It involves leaving the corpses on top of a tower and allowing the birds to pick them clean.” He eyed the piles of birds. “I suppose it is our best option.”

From there they again worked together in silence. Dimitri carried the bodies up the ladder three at a time. Marianne dragged them into neat(ish) rows. When the bodies were all laid out, she clasped her hands and bowed her head in prayer for the souls of the dead. _Compassionate._ Of course Claude would be drawn to her.

As soon as she finished, he took a deep breath and said what he needed to. “I apologize for my earlier behavior. It was unbecoming of me.”

“No… I, I’m not good at anything. I just get in the way, a-and r-r-ruin _e-ev…everything!”_ A cry burst from her throat as she collapsed, covering her face with her hands. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” He stood gape-jawed as Marianne wept and apologized over and over. She begged for forgiveness, first from him then from the Goddess. Between her sobs she heaved out an explanation: she was cursed to cause misfortune to everyone around her. She begged him to forgive Claude and to keep him away from her, for his own safety and happiness. “I’ll only hurt him… I hurt everyone!”

As much as jealousy still simmered in his stomach, he couldn’t bear to be angry at her. Not when she was parroting his own thoughts. “I apologize for leaping to conclusions earlier,” he quietly murmured, settling down beside her. “It was rather foolish of me to assume Claude was having… dalliances with another. My improper behavior is no fault of yours. There is no need to apologize.” 

She shook her head. “N-no, I deserve it. It’s not fair of me to take his time and attention. It’s selfish of me to take that from anyone.”

“It’s clear he is close to you. What is truly selfish is my own desire to hoard his attention. You’re a better match for him. He’ll be happy with you.”

“No, no, I’ll only cause him further pain! He’ll be happiest with you.”

“He deserves better than me,” they both said simultaneously.

They stared at one another in silence. Finally Dimitri bowed his head and shut his eyes, huffing a mirthless chuckle. “So this is what Claude meant when he said we were similar. Perhaps he has a type.” A beat passed and his ears warmed. “A type of _friend,_ of course.”

“Y-yes. As a friend. He’s very, um… affectionate.”

“He _is._ He has such a wide heart. I suppose it truly was foolish of me to assume I was anything special to him…”

“You are special to him.” Shaking, Marianne placed her hand on his gauntlet. “He trusts you to be with him when he sleeps. He trusts you to protect him. I, um, don’t think he trusts anyone else like that…”

“He trusts _you_ like that.”

“N-not exactly. He trusts I won't hurt him, a-and that I’ll heal him if he’s hurt. B-but I’m not strong enough to protect him and he knows it. I’m too weak… but you’re strong.” She pulled back and looked away, fiddling with her fingers. “And, um, he’s very, um… obvious. About, um, how much he… ‘enjoys’ being around you. Claude is very skittish when anyone else touches him. B-but he knows you won’t hurt him.”

“I could though.”

“M-me too. Just being around him, he risks pain and death… I don’t think he’ll, um, allow either of us to leave him. E-even if it’s for his own good. And I think if either of us distance ourselves from him, I… I don’t want to think about how much he would be hurt. Even if being around me means he’ll be hurt anyways…”

Dimitri snorted. A horrible joke occurred to him. “Goddess above. He truly has such a skewed sense of danger. Falling from wyvern back or associating with dangerous beasts are nothing to him. For one that values his life so highly, he enjoys risks.”

She wobbled something resembling a smile. “He has a very wide heart, a-as you said. He always sees the best in people, e-even those who hurt him. Even those that don’t deserve it.” In a rush, Marianne gripped his shoulder, braving tearful eye contact. “Even if you think you don’t deserve him, or, or anything else, please don’t distance yourself from him. He’s so afraid that you’ll grow to hate him. D-don’t tell him I said that, I shouldn’t have said that. B-but I think he’s used to people leaving him, and hating him, and hurting him.”

“Who would dare?” he whispered back at her.

She shook her head. “I d-don’t think he’ll want to talk about it. P-please don’t tell him I said that.”

He nodded, looking away. “You should go back to him. I’m certain he will enjoy your presence. I snapped at him before I left. He was not happy with me. I can’t fault him for that.”

“He’ll forgive you. You go to him. He’ll want your protection.”

“Your healing is more important to him and his current sickness.”

“He needs rest most of all and he sleeps best with you.”

“You’re a better match for him. He’ll be far happier with you. I… I need to sit here longer. I cannot bear to snap at him again.” Jealousy still churned in his gut. If he went back to Claude, he knew his beastly instincts would unfurl once more. As soon as his restraint snapped, he feared how far he was willing to go to claim Claude as _his._ “Marianne, I can see when I am outclassed.” He grit his teeth together, forcing himself to speak the ugly truth. “I am certain you will make a fine wife for him.”

“Oh…” She paused, then burst into laughter. “I — haha — I’m sorry! Haha! I don’t mean to laugh, I’m not — haha — not laughing at you!” He sat in silence, heat creeping into his cheeks as Marianne struggled to regain her composure. “D-Dimitri, Claude doesn’t want to marry me.”

“You’re perfect for him though. It would be an advantageous political union… and you’re perfect for him.”

“I’m not perfect at all.” Her laughter vanished as she hung her head. “I’m too gloomy. I’m bad at talking. I’m boring. I would make a wretched wife. I can’t even keep my room clean and I’m always dropping things and I’m so clumsy. I would ruin him. If he dies because of me, I… I don’t…”

He didn’t know what to say to that. “You have no plans to court him, then?”

“None. He, um, he wouldn’t want me like that anyways, even if I was perfect…”

“Oh.” He hunched his shoulders, looking away as more heat crept down his neck. “I apologize. Again.”

“It’s, um, it’s okay. I understand…”

“It’s not okay. I hurt you and acted horrible for a foolish assumption. I vow I will make it up to you.”

N-no, you don’t need to.”

“Please allow me to.” He allowed more truth than usual to slip out, knowing Marianne would understand. “I feel wretchedly guilty. Please allow me to atone in the future.”

“Oh. Okay, I g-guess so…”

He weakly smiled. “Besides, I do believe Claude expressed a wish that we get along. I misjudged you Marianne. I would like to start over when we return to the monastery. If you are amenable to the idea?”

She nodded. Together, they left to check on Claude.

* * *

Through blurry water he sees the cracking dam. Spreading out from the black lesion is a web of golden cracks that grow longer and thicker every second. The dam screams in pain. It hurts. It hurts horribly but he can’t bring himself to care. The dam hates his indifference and ignorance. It just wants the pain to stop. It hates him for allowing the pain to fester (even though he tried to fix it. He was just a child. He didn’t know there was nothing to be done). It hates him for accepting the pain and giving up (what other option was there? All he could do was throw blame at others and hate them, or accept it. He chose to accept it). 

It doesn’t hate him. It just wants the endless pain to stop. It will be over soon. The dam is crumbling. Soon the pain will be gone. A distant part of himself screams and claws for stability. The rest of him knows the pain won’t stop any other way. The wound is too rotten to heal any other way. There is no cure aside from total erasure.

A bell chimes. It tinkles again, slowly, again and again in a steady rhythm that increases in volume. Grabbing blindly he fumbles towards the sound, flailing in the tide. It is coming closer. He hopes it is coming closer. All else he can hear is the crashing torrent drinking him alive. 

The currents shifted around him. A glimmering star twinkled behind his eyelids. Slowly the pressure eases. Something brushes his knees, then his fingers. It is a fuzzy static shifting and molding as it closes around him, perhaps a warm mouth taking him in or a cloudy substance that cannot hold his weight. It flutters and bucks under him, heaving until slowly, slowly, his fingers find a grip. Unsteady as it is, even as the substance vanishes in his hands, it is of more substance than nothing. 

The tide rips at him aimlessly, once more striving to rip away his limbs from himself. A pressure nips his back, sinking past his flesh in a sharp _realness_ that the tide does not possess. It tugs, then yanks. Air touches his back like a thousand little knives. The substance at his fingers and knees solidifies into something thicker, like porridge first, then into grainy bits of glass-shard sand. 

Violently his head is thrust back into air. The sudden sound pierces his skull. His limbs remember they have agency as they flail without his input. His lungs scream as if they forgot how to inhale. The tide recedes until he is laying in nothing but a puddle, screaming and screaming. _Oh._ He brings his hand to his face and forces it over his mouth, muffling the awful noise. Slowly the screaming dies so he can breathe again. Everything shakes. Everything hurts and aches. Everything is wrong.

The sweet chimes titter beside his ears. Remembering he has eyes he can open, he opens his eyes. Slowly at first, expecting pain and brightness. He finds pain and brightness, but not as strong as feared. His rescuer stares at him, unblinking. It knows him. _She_ knows him. Her eyes are golden, just as bright as the liquid sunlight still desperately lapping at his skin. Her luminescent fur meanders about her body like the shimmering surface of a lake. Her hooves are solid gold, standing atop the water’s surface.

He sinks into the sand, willing it to hide him from her judgement. The eyes cast down on him like a physical weight. He’s never been afraid of an animal before. Not like this. 

He’s not sure this is an animal.

She turns away from him. Each step her hooves take tinkle with a sound he can only describe as _holy._ With her back to him, she vanishes into the nearby woods.

“Wait!” He was supposed to be alone here. He was supposed to drown, alone forever. Whoever she is and whatever she wants from him, he _needs_ to know. Picking himself off the ground proves difficult. Limbs creak and jerk unwieldy in their newness. He totters after her like a newborn, nearly falling on his face as his knees try to betray him again and again. 

The forest sways in inky blackness, taunting him with a void so thick he isn’t certain anything exists beyond it. He follows the bells. Through the forest she leaves a trail of bright mist he follows. He is leaking the same mist.

_He is bleeding._

The realization nearly stops him in his tracks. He can’t let the only other living thing leave him, so he presses forward. Now that he notices it, he can’t unnotice it. Like her, he too is giving off a cloud of golden vapor. Unlike her, he is hemorrhaging a flow of liquid gold. Every vein near the surface of his skin openly weeps ichor. At his feet he trails puddles. He cannot stop to examine it. 

He chases the golden vapor for an eternity.

He stumbles into a somewhat familiar clearing. Trees line the glade, soft moonlight brushing the reality into existence. The glowing deer from before ignores him in favor of the other three within the glade — the white hind and her two fawns. The hind lays on the ground, eyes shimmering with moonlight. She presses her snout against the golden doe in greeting. Her white fawn stumbles upright to meet the golden doe as well. The honey-brown fawn does not.

He steps closer. The white hind turns to face him, grunting softly. The white fawn is too busy whining at the golden doe, pawing at her and… passing through her? He stops in his tracks. The golden doe is transparent. She leans down to rest her head beside her white fawn. After a moment she moves to the brown fawn. Unlike the white fawn, the brown one does not acknowledge the doe. The white fawn nudges its sibling in the right direction, but again the brown fawn cannot see the deer in front of it. The brown fawn’s eyes even sweep past him. The white fawn stands and regards him now. It bounces over to him, eager for pets as always. He bends down to stroke its fur. His hand passes through the solid deer. He jerks away.

The gold doe nudges the fawn away from him. Her eyes burn into him. She **_hates_ ** him. Many people have hated him throughout his life, but never like this. 

The glowing doe advances on him. “What are you?” he gasps, fighting not to run away. If he returns to the void, he will surely be lost forever. Perhaps she led him into the forest for that exact purpose. He stumbles forward, desperate to crawl close to her. Perhaps she hates him. The fear of her fading away overrides his caution. “Don’t leave me.” A bell crackles at the edge of his mind, her eyes flaring. She is beautiful. She is translucent. She is long dead. Gripped by fear he reaches out to her, hand clutching her shimmering fur. 

**“You left** ** _me.”_** He yelps and falls back. She continues to advance on him. **“Make your choice. Stay, or leave.”**

“I don’t even know where I am,” he stutters out the partial lie. He recognizes the place but he doesn't know from where. 

The white hind hums a sweet, unnatural note. Her big silver eyes are sad but welcoming. _Offering._ If he wants, he can stay with her. All he has to do is ask for it. 

**“He is not worthy,”** the golden doe rumbles a gong, leaning nose to nose with him. **“He deserves no second chance.”**

“Am I dying?” he blurts, placing his golden-slick hand between him and the deer. The puddle of his blood(?) is growing the longer he sits in place. It drips from him steadily, from his veins, his pores, even his eyes.

**“You are long dead.”**

_But that can change, if you desire._

“I don’t want to die.”

 **“Neither did I.”** The eyes blaze golden. She speaks through the air, charging it with the toll of angry bells. He doesn’t understand, but he knows she blames him for that. 

He shook his head back and forth slowly. “No, I can’t be dead. I don’t want to die.”

The white hind stands and sniffs his palm. She noses his hand, pressing somewhat through his skin. More golden liquid gushes from his palm in a geyser. Her breath flows over his hand and into him, something calm and soothing echoing throughout his body. It feels nice. Welcoming. Drenched in grief but also forgiveness. His skin tears along the already present rips, tearing more golden blood out of him. Globs of tears rush down his cheeks. With each of her breaths he feels his skin tear further, more gold rushing out to fill the gaps. 

After all, he can’t stay with her as he is now. She needs to tear away the barriers between them first. She must destroy the dam. _But only if that is what he desires._

His heart throbs with ancient loneliness. _He desires it more than anything. Where was she when he was abandoned the first time?_

“Stop,” he whispers. She stops. The damage remains, littering his body. He is bleeding in more places than he isn’t. The pressure inside him fights to escape faster, pushing at the rips to tear them wider, to tear _him_ into nothing.

Something cold touches his other palm. The golden doe licks at his palm, sealing the gash shut. Her eyes blaze in anger as she works, never taking her eyes off of him. She is not gentle. A golden hoof presses into his chest and forces him to the ground as the deer slowly laps his wounds shut. He turns to the white hind to try and understand but she is gone. It is just him and the golden doe now. She digs her hoof into his chest, forcing the air out of his lungs. Golden mist forces itself past his lips. He pushes against her but she won’t stop, won’t allow him to breathe. 

**“You are not supposed to be here. Never return. Go home.”**

“I don’t have a home,” he grits past his teeth.

**“Your own fault.”**

_His fault?_ How dare she. She doesn’t understand what it means to be shunned. She's just some glowing deer, what does _she_ know? Her voice was added to thousands crying for his blood, all because of how he was born. He never _chose_ to be born. It isn’t _his_ fault society chose ignorance and fear of the unknown instead of embracing diversity. He was throwing his entire damned _soul_ into fixing that, into carving out somewhere he belonged, and this _woodland animal_ has the gall to _mock_ him?!

“You don’t know a _thing_ about me!”

**“You abandoned me to die. That is all I care to know.”**

Her features twist. Something in her face wobbles, twitching, flickering. Something uncanny. He pushes against her fur with both hands. One hand, still dripping with gold, finds purchase but is too weak. His other hand, licked and sealed shut, passes through her glimmering fur. She seals his other arm, his legs, his torso. She licks at his chest, everywhere but where she holds him to the ground with her hoof over his heart.

She comes to his face. He squeezes his eyes shut as she licks away his tears. Inhaling sharply, the air smells wrong. Stale. Rotten. She laps at his ears. The jingle of bells and gongs crackle, warp, and clamber into a sizzling hum, static and burning. She pauses with half of his face cleaned. He peeks open one eye, still weeping gold. Her eyes are twin suns, holy and wrathful. Beautiful as the uncaring sun burning away any unprepared mortal daring to walk under her amidst the sands. He opens his other eye and her face warps. One eye bulges bigger than the other, the other jerking into a sharp triangular shape. Her jaw twitches and hangs loose, blots of froth foaming out of her too-wide mouth. The shape of her skull contorts, refusing to stay still. He tears his eyes away. Her body is pure light. What little that isn’t twists with gnarled bones snaking out from her back and side, worming around her body like eager roots. A single arrow sticks out of her chest, oozing black ichor that her golden light laps away at. Her hooves burn his chest like red iron. 

Her voice sours in deafening untuned bells. **“YOU WERE BORN FOR ME. YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGIVEN. YOU WERE MEANT TO BELONG TO ME. YOU WERE BORN TO DIE IN MY STEAD.”** The entity’s face cracks, spilling worms of bone and twitching roots that reach for him. Golden leaves bloom and wither and bloom as her body expands like light itself.

Her maw descents upon him. Screaming, he digs fingers into the grass and fails to claw himself away from her. He kicks at the _thing_ on top of him. His foot passes through bone and light as if she doesn’t exist. She doesn’t wait for him to shut his other eye. She devours the gold spilling from his tear ducts and trails her limp, cold, unnatural tongue across his eye. Everything twists further and brightens. Her fur doesn’t grow brighter, but his eyes can’t stand the light. Her visage vanishes in the void of light as she trails her tongue across his other ear, nearly finished.

The hoof on his chest burns. It lifts ever so slightly. She bends down and is coming for him.

**Y O U**

**D O N O T**

**B E L O N G**

His nails dig into the dirt and he yanks himself away. Heels kick at the loamy earth as he scrambles, flees, flails. She screeches behind him. Her chimes and bells are gone. Whatever noise she is trying to make it doesn’t register in his head. It _can’t_ register. It isn’t a sound. It isn’t _real,_ it doesn’t exist, yet it is louder than anything he has ever heard in his life. The loudness claws into him, stabbing at every grain of blood in his body, forcing lightning into his system. She will tear him apart with her wail.

Foot kicking off the ground he jerks towards a gap in the trees lining the glade. Her light sings for him, screams for him. He squeezes himself between two trunks and runs. He runs. He throws himself into the void and runs from any trace of light. Her crackling wail follows him — or perhaps it is so loud that he cannot escape it. Branches and bushes tug at him, the darkness nipping his ankles. Something sharp snatches his wrist but he keeps running. Brambles tear at him and he runs. His shoulder clips a branch and nearly drops him to the ground. He runs.

His lungs scream but they cannot out-scream the deer. Pounding follows him. Her steps thunder in his ears, so close to be almost inside of him. Blindly he pushes himself. He runs and runs and runs. The light will not leave. Little flashes of her light catch his eye no matter how long he runs. Even as her howls fade the thundering refuses to leave. Her light chases him. It pounds after him, hooves just behind him.

Head-first a tree trunk makes contact. Pain stuns him. The world tilts and loses meaning as direction is divorced from reality. First the front of his head then his chest ram into the trunk. He falls back, slamming the back of his head on a rock. Gravity twists as he rolls down a hill, every spot of him striking thorns of darkness and rocks of void. 

Blind and deaf, as soon as everything stops spinning he curls into a ball. _She’s coming. She’s coming for him._ Even as he squeezes his eyes shut her light penetrates his eyelids. The low crackle of her unknowable music hums beside his ear. _Thump thump thump thump thump—_ She thunders beside him. He presses himself into the moss and thorns despite knowing he can’t escape her sight.

He waits.

Hoofbeats overtake the hum. Hand shoved over his mouth, the heaving pants of his breath refuse to be silenced. Limbs shake against his will. Each second that passes the pounding grows louder as he _waits, waits,_ **_waits._ ** He can’t move. She petrified him into stone. He can’t run. He’s too scared to move.

She doesn’t come. There are no hooves. There never were any hooves. Only the pounding of his heart. His heartbeat beats against his ribcage and eardrums, just as desperate to escape as he is. He isn’t brave enough to open his eyes. There is still light prying past his eyelids. His heartbeat pounds. His heart attempts to beat out of his chest. His chest burns. Braving movement, fingers press over his heart, desperate to muffle the noise.

His chest is wet and hot.

Surprise forces his eyes to open. Weak golden light coats his fingers and trickles from his chest. _Oh._ He looks up and finds no other light. Only void. Wherever the golden doe is, she isn’t anywhere near him. All he can see is the trickle of light on his chest and hand. All he can hear is his heartbeat.

Shaking fingers prod his chest. The deer didn’t have the chance to lick the last wound away. It oozes dim golden light, the area around the wound puffy and hot. Swiping away the trickle of blood, the wound beneath isn’t lit up. The lesion inside his chest is black, seeming to penetrate deeper than it should. It weeps golden fluid slowly, glimmering with rotten neglect. He knows the wound. It never scarred and it should not exist. He knows how he got it, when he got it, and why he got it. He shouldn’t know, but he does. The wound is almost as old as he is. 

_“We ask …ild bound by …nd keep… together, safe… loved and… promise… if granted, we vow… safe… cherish as… our own blood…”_

Their words are faded, only understood in hindsight. The voices were new when he first heard them so long ago but ring familiar now in his memory. In a glade like the one he just came from, but different. _His_ glade atop the mountain, surrounded by sparse trees and protection from his fears. The lonely pond from his dreams.

_The calls of the two creatures fall silent. He looks between them, curious. Then his legs fail him. The pond swallows him whole,_ **_his pond is no longer safe._ ** _His legs flail but they are not_ right, _they do not move right, he cannot swim. Something reaches out to him and pulls him into the air, and he wails._

He doesn’t understand. It was only a childhood dream. Nothing more. Children don’t remember their infancy. The faded dream is _just_ a dream. An old recurring nightmare. It holds no basis in reality.

_A short stick of grey shines through the void, catching what little moonlight he sees. This creature is not like the others. This one is not like the two safe creatures he met suns and moons ago at his pond. His two safe friends brought him into a new place with strangeness, like soft things to sleep on and fur that comes on and off. His two safe friends give him warmth and food and hold him. This creature is not like them. This one is dangerous. He tries to run and flee but his legs still refuse to work._

_First-blood is poured from his heart by hatred and negligence._ **_Safe. Safe. They vowed he would be safe. Where are they?_ ** _Gold burns the darkness away from the tiny cut above his heart. The stick of shining grey flinches and flees._

_Summoned by the gold, both heaven and earth fall upon the steel and devour the threat piece by piece._

Just an old dream. It means nothing.

He clasps his hand over his heart, hiding the light away. _He doesn’t understand._ Surrounding him is nothing but black. The void looks into him, judging him. Anything could be within. He curls in on himself further, petrified. If he doesn’t move, and makes no sound, and gives off no light, perhaps he will be safe. But he cannot stop shaking, his heart is only pounding faster and faster, and the light seeping out of his chest continues to weep.

He is lost and alone.

There is no hope of finding his way. There is no path. The darkness never ends. It nips at him, hungry. It isn’t like he has anywhere to _go_ anyways. Where would he go? Almyra? Fódlan? Those aren’t _home._ Those aren’t _safe._ He doesn’t _belong_ anywhere.

His breathing grows louder no matter how much force he presses over his mouth. The darkness is watching him, waiting. 

_He never escaped the cave, did he._

For once the darkness doesn’t jeer at him. There are no faces conjured by the mind of a dying child. Only stillness. Only silence. Only himself. He wants to whistle for Ama. He wants Vish. He wants to cry out for mama and baba. He _must be silent._

He doesn’t want to be alone. He doesn’t want to die alone.

Hot liquid trails down his cheeks. This time it doesn’t glow. The darkness presses in on him like boulders. There are no trees and there never were any. He was a fool to think he could escape the cave. No matter what he does he always wakes back up in suffocating darkness. He’s going to die all alone and it will be all his fault.

_He wants his parents. He wants Mama and Baba and Ama._

_…_

_...au…ear…ake…aud…_

_…laud…hear…wake u…kay? Ma… is oka…?_

Slowly something echoes above his heartbeat. It sounds familiar.

_…on’t wake …orried ab…Cla…_

They’re too far away. He’s too scared to move. 

_Claude… Claude…_

Claude. That’s him. Someone knows (one of) his name(s). He knows the voices. They are safe voices. He’s safe with them. But only if he goes to them. He can’t move.

_So sorry… lease wak… laude…_

_…on’t know… wrong… a nightmare?_

He doesn’t want to be alone. The voices can’t be too far away. All he has to do is find them. Everything is still dark aside from himself. Anything could be between himself and them. 

_I have you Claude. Whenever you wake, I’ll be here…_

_We both will be here._

He grits his teeth together and smothers a whine building in his throat. _Safety._ He forces himself to uncurl despite every muscle screaming at him that he **_is going to die if he moves they will see him he will die if they hear him._ ** He can’t do this.

_…Claude…_

He has to get up. He bolts to his feet and runs. The light of his chest flickers fitfully, too dim to pierce through the darkness. He runs anyway. The voices grow louder. The dirt beneath him vanishes. He flails and silently screams. He accepts the leap of faith. Water envelops him. Black water, not the golden water held behind his dam. It is cold and forces into his lungs. He can’t breathe. He kicks and flails but nothing works. 

Two spots of warmth touch his skin. He rises and sees light other than his own. He sees— 

* * *

“Claude!” Dimitri’s face hovered above him.

“Are you okay?” Marianne whispered beside Dimitri.

He gulped in as much air as he could silently manage. His mouth opened as he tried to force syllables out. His lips moved but nothing came out. _‘Dima? Mari?’_ he failed to say.

“It was just a nightmare. You’re safe.” Marianne nodded, agreeing with Dimitri. She slowly showed him her hand, then thumbed away the wet streaks on his face. Dimitri carefully squeezed him. He was bundled up against Dimitri. “You’re safe. I have you. You don’t need to be so still.”

It was so hard to move. Surrounding Dima and Mari was both darkness and dawn’s light. The dark scared him. The light scared him. But the dark wasn’t void black and the light wasn’t blinding. Slowly as safety settled in, he began to tremble. He opened his mouth to say something — anything — and the scream that had been building broke free.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Dimitri tried to shush him and he let himself be shushed. He couldn’t stop the panting gasps that boomed in his ears. Reaching out he fisted against fabric — Dimitri or Marianne, he couldn’t tell who.

“Don’t leave.” He didn’t care that he was begging. He didn’t care that he was being weak. 

“We won’t.” Marianne brushed against his forehead. “How’s your head? Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“No.” _Just scared._ “I feel fine.” Just to contradict his words, his chest twinged with pain. The wound throbbed. It shouldn’t be with him anymore. It didn’t bleed but it was _there._ He couldn’t let anyone see it. They would know something was wrong with him. That something was _not right_ about his existence. Even though he didn’t understand what happened in his dream, he couldn’t risk anyone _else_ understanding it.

“Does your chest hurt?”

 _‘No,’_ he mouthed, fear rising once more. He shook his head back and forth. Marianne rubbed her hand against his chest. He squeezed his eyes shut. _Please don’t leave me._ She traced over the wound and found nothing. Through the fabric of his shirt she found nothing on the surface. No inflamed lesion. No rotten scar. There was nothing there. He could feel it, but it wasn’t there.

“It’s, um, your heart rate is really high. That’s w-why it hurts. It will hurt less when you’re calm a-and shouldn’t hurt at a-all in a few hours.”

“That makes sense,” he panted out. 

A scream echoed around the stone. This time it wasn’t him. Dimitri bolted to his feet, still clutching him tightly (maybe a little too tight but _Gods_ he needed to be held too tight). “I think that was Hilda,” Marianne whispered. Another scream echoed, then another. _Ignatz. Lysithea._

“Let’s go,” he said. “I’m fine, just shaken. Carry me if you have to” — _please don’t let go —_ “but they need help.”

Dimitri’s lips pressed thin as he debated, but in the end he nodded and they raced down the hallway.

“What’s wrong?” Dimitri shouted as he burst into the makeshift campsite. Everyone whirled to look at them. There was no danger that Claude could see. Some of them were crying though. He was in no place to judge.

Cries of “Dimitri!” and “Prince Dimitri!” filled the room, followed by “Marianne!” and “They’re okay!” 

Hilda jumped to her feet and tackled Marianne, squeezing her in a desperate hug. “Where have you been? We thought the worst! And you guys found Claude!”

“Found me?” Hilda wasn’t the only Deer to flinch at his (admittedly hoarse) voice. He pasted a decent smile on. He couldn’t afford to be seen as weak around anyone but Marianne and Dimitri. “I didn’t go anywhere.”

“I was holding you a few minutes ago, then the flood waters started to rise into the room! Then the lights went out and I _totally_ thought we were all dead. But then I woke up and everything was dry, but you were gone!” She faced the Deer (without breaking her hug). “You guys remember it happening like that, right?”

Everyone nodded. “I thought sunlight would never come,” Lysithea whimpered as she scrubbed at her wet cheeks. “I want out of this s-stupid tower!”

“And the storm finally stopped,” Ignatz gasped, laughing as tears continued to pour down his cheeks. “We even found Flayn, she’s still sleeping with Raph!”

“Flood water?” Dimitri asked. “It would take a great deal of water to flood this tower.”

“We _know,”_ Sylvain of all people spoke up from where he was squished beside Ignatz. _Huh._ Sylvain got snuggly with the Deer real fast. “You should have seen the rain. It poured for a week straight!” He paused, paling. “Your Highness, where _were_ you?”

“Yeah Mari, we thought you guys died!”

“We, um, were on the roof…? There were, um, bodies to take care of.”

“That is correct. We were only gone for a few hours at most. It was a light drizzle at predawn. It hasn’t been storming for hours.”

“Oh no. _No,_ not again,” Leonie whispered. “There’s _no way_ we dreamed that entire week. Right. _Right guys?”_

The rest of his classmates paled. “That was way too realistic to be a dream,” Sylvain argued.

“Hey Mari,” Hilda began, hesitating. “How long has it been since we defeated Miklan?”

“Um… a-about half a day? We finished the fight in the evening and then made camp last night.”

“It happened again,” Lysithea whispered. “There aren’t any mushrooms to blame it on this time either.”

“Actually, it’s possible there’s some sort of psychedelic mold in the tower.” Everyone turned to face him. “What? It’s not _likely,_ but it’s plausible.” 

“The mushrooms. The ones you guys said caused a realistic, month-long dream during your last trip, right?” Sylvain asked. “The story you guys told me about _during the rainstorm,_ yesterday? The rainstorm that we _collectively dreamed up?_ This is insane.”

Hilda hung her head and tugged at her hair. “Ugh! I’m done! So done! Is this a dream too? What if my whole life has been a dream! I can’t take this!”

“Calm down,” Teach said.

_“Professor!”_

Teach walked into the room with a sheepish Gilbert. “There’s no point in worrying about it. Either you are dreaming or you aren’t.” They paused. “Or perhaps this is a very strange afterlife.” Shrugging, they continued. “This is reality, though. As real as this medium gets.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Teach? I'm sick of dealing with cryptic bullshit for once.”

“Don’t worry about it. What _is_ reality anyways? You never know if you might someday learn you’re nothing but the plaything of an unseen deity. Or the plaything of a little eleven year old ghost girl that enjoys nagging you.”

“You mean, um, the Goddess? A-about the unseen deity I mean. I wouldn’t dare insult the Goddess by calling her a little girl…” Marianne spoke up.

“If you want to interpret it that way. Whatever you choose, start packing. If we don’t get moving now we won’t make it to an inn before nightfall. Unless you all _want_ to camp again…” Everyone sprang into action, tears and fears forgotten at the prospect of a _real, safe_ bed. They turned to Gilbert. “That includes you. You fell asleep on watch.” The old man ducked his head and helped out as well, cowed either by Teach or by the shame of falling asleep. He had to hand it to Teach: a distraction was exactly what everyone needed.

“I still don’t get it,” Hilda muttered from where she was ‘delegating’ (getting others to pack for her) still hugging Marianne. “How come you two and the professor weren’t hit in the nightmare? I get Claude and Flayn, they were passed out.” 

Claude agreed that it was weird. A lot of weird stuff kept happening. Whatever this was, it probably wasn’t fungus related this time. _What did Dima, Mari, and Teach all have in common?_ Other than their shared place on his ‘willing to trust not to stab me in my sleep’ list, he came up blank. Besides, he added Hilda and some of the other Deer (like Raphael) onto the list too! Sorta. So long as they never learned who he was. At least with Dima and Mari he was (somewhat) sure they wouldn’t stab him for that (and Teach, who he doubted would care at all). 

They shared… the color blue? Mari had blue hair, Dima and Teach had blue eyes. No, that was ridiculous. Mari and Teach shared mysterious crests, but Dima’s was well understood. What about— 

“What are you thinking about?” Dimitri asked. It occurred to him that he really should get up and help out. His limbs still felt gelatinous though, so he stuck to keeping Dimitri company.

“A lot of things that don’t matter,” he said with a shrug. More than anything, he needed to look into his _own_ weird nightmare. The sights were uncomfortably crisp in his memory. The implications… 

No, he could look into those another time. He didn’t want to think about deer, animals, or anything related to his nightmare at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dimitri: I’m clumsy and wretched  
> Marianne: O-oh, um, s-same hat!
> 
> Ingrid: Welcome back Sylvain. How was the mission?  
> Sylvain: Traumatic  
> Ingrid: I suppose killing your brother-  
> Sylvain: Oh that went fine (mostly). *Thousand yard stare* I'm gonna go and disassociate for the rest of the day, cya  
> Ingrid: Sylvain! You can't drown your trauma with women!  
> Sylvain: Watch me!  
> Sylvain: Hey LADIES (of the golden deer), anyone wanna... disassociate and chill? Snuggle? Cuddle? ;) (Seriously pls snuggle w me)
> 
> GD: Oh look, more trauma. The only comfort we find is in cuddling while we wait to die :/  
> Claude: Ah-hah, I knew friendship cuddling was normal!
> 
> Anyways, that's the end of the Miklan arc! I can't believe this fic has arcs... Up next is return to Garreg Mach and some fluffy filler (bc these kids seriously need a break)


End file.
